AlphaOmega
by Sar-kaz-m
Summary: COMPLETE! VanHelsing-X-Men crossover. Slash. Gabriel Van Helsing - Knight of the Holy Order, Hunter, Holy Man. Immortal? Mutant? COMPLETE!
1. Book One: One

[Notes: This is a strange fic. It's a Van Helsing/X-Men-movieverse crossover reincarnation slash fic. There are no original characters, only adapted ones. It's a two parter – the first taking place in the Van Helsing universe, the second in the X-Men. I thought up a theory that ties Gabriel Van Helsing to Logan (hey, same actor!grin) and then my muse hit the ground in a sprint....]  
  
ALPHA/OMEGA  
  
Book One  
  
ONE  
  
Van Helsing shot his partner a look to see if the friar was ready. After five years, the two men had become a team that functioned like a fine Swiss clock. Few words were needed to arrange an ambush for the warlock they hunted.

Carl nodded in answer to the wordless question, pulling a shotgun from under his coat. The friar had become an accomplished field agent over the years, abandoning his bulky robes for simple modern garments covered by a cloak-like coat. He still wore a silver crucifix of the Holy Order, signifying that he was yet officially a holy man, though under Van Helsing's tutelage Carl had become a formidable hunter. The two men were shadows of each other, much alike now in build and skill. Van Helsing still favored black, while Carl clung to the dark browns of the mendicants. Van Helsing still had a bit of the 'kill first, ask questions later' attitude, and Carl could still spend days, even weeks, in a lab developing weapons.

Van Helsing watched as his partner crept silently along the roof of the building, making his way to a good vantage point to lay down hemming gunfire. The Vatican's number one agent smiled to himself as he noted the perfection of the friar's skill. It had taken time, but he'd trained Carl well. At least he broke Carl of the habit of hacking his own hair off. The fairer man's hair now hung almost as long as Van Helsing's, though he wore it pulled back. Carl never understood why the hunter insisted he change his appearance.

For his part, Carl was relieved that they were actually attempting to catch this target. Over the years, he'd nagged Van Helsing into trying more traps and less frontal assaults on targets. The pair performed better now than ever before. It was not long after Transylvania that the Order decided to make Carl a permanent partner to Van Helsing. After Carl developed a werewolf serum from Van Helsing's blood, though Carl claimed the blood had belonged to Velkan Valerious and that he used the properties of anti-toxin formulation to create it, the Order decided that more field work might lead to more innovations, and so hunter and holy man found themselves together more and more often. Eventually, Van Helsing could be found researching in the library on occasion, and Carl carried a pair of pistols with ease. They could read each other's moods, knew each other's weaknesses, such as Van Helsing's new inability to attack dark-haired women even when they were demons, and they tolerated each other's personality quirks with humor.

Reaching the ledge nearest the street, Carl lay down on the shingles and sighted along the shotgun. The weapon, un-enhanced in any way, would lay down a spray of pellet shot. Their plan was for Carl to stop the carriage they expected to come down the street. In the carriage would be the target. When it stopped due to Carl's firing, Van Helsing would swing down and shoot the target with a tranquilizing dart.

Finally, the carriage appeared. Carl open fired. Van Helsing swung down, but to his shock, the carriage was empty. He paused to make sure, only to hear Carl's shout. Ducking, Van Helsing managed to avoid the swiping claws of the hell-beast disguised as the coachman. Hissing, the red-eyed monster made to attack, but at that moment, the point of a silver stake emerged with a spray of black blood from its shoulder. It writhed and howled as Van Helsing drew his Tojo blade and beheaded it. Emitting an acrid smell, the beast disintegrated.

"What is that, nine? Ten?" Carl asked, retrieving the stake and wiping it clean on the carriage's curtains.

"Nine I owe you. Of course, we could say that's one less that you owe me!"

Carl snorted. "I only owe you twelve." Van Helsing grinned at the friar's affronted tone. They kept a running tally of who'd saved whom more, one of their in-jokes. "Besides, I wouldn't have had to save you if you hadn't lost concentration there." He climbed into the carriage and examined it for any clues. "I don't even think he got in!" He jumped out and gave Van Helsing a glare. "What happened?"

The big hunter shrugged. "I was surprised. We rarely miss."

Carl rolled his eyes. "Well, I didn't think this would really work anyway."

"Wait, if it wasn't going to work, why try it?"

This time Carl shrugged. "So when the Cardinal asks 'Did you even try to capture the man?'" Carl imitated the Cardinal's thick accent perfectly. "We can say we tried."

Van Helsing blinked. Sometimes, Carl said things that made him wonder whether this partnership was a good thing. Right now, he wondered what happened to the innocent who'd complained every step of the way and jumped like a rabbit at the slightest noise.

"What?" Carl asked.

"Tell me, did you want it to work?"

Carl looked surprised. "Well, of course I did! Though I rather think a warlock like DeJohns isn't going to repent, really, even if we did capture him, but there's always the hope that he would." He glanced quizzically at Van Helsing as he began to unhitch the pair of horses hooked to the carriage. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know." Van Helsing said, staring at him. They'd become closer than friends, closer than brothers, over the last few years, but sometimes, he sensed a sort of strange moral ambivalence in Carl that Van Helsing couldn't pin down or dismiss. Carl became less chatty, more curt over the years. He still would talk for hours about an invention, but all the complaints and chiding had faded away.

"Are you going to help, or are you going to stand there looking intimidating?" Carl asked with a small smile.

That smirk brought Van Helsing back to himself. The expression was classically 'smug Carl'. Quickly, they mounted the horses and made their way to the mansion the warlock DeJohns had lately inhabited. From one look, they could tell the man had abandoned the place. So, now they had to begin the hunt again. They agreed to wait until morning to question the servants and the neighborhood.


	2. Book One: Two

ALPHA/OMEGA  
  
Book One  
  
TWO  
  
At the inn where they'd set up their base, Van Helsing watched from the corner of his eye as Carl cleaned and serviced every bit of his equipment. The friar hunched over his work, an errant lock of reddish blond hair falling into his eyes, muttering occasionally as he tightened screws and wound springs. After pushing his hair back for the fifth time, Carl made an annoyed noise and demanded, "Why on earth did you make me grow this mess out?!?"

Van Helsing chuckled. "So that if you ever need to drastically change your look, like when the authorities get too good of a description of you, you can always cut it off. Easiest way to change your appearance."

"Oh. Well, fine then." Carl went back to his tinkering. Van Helsing leaned back and watched him. Eventually, Carl finished. He sat back and sighed. "So, are you going to tell me what really happened?"

"What really happened when?"

"Tonight. When you lost concentration."

Van Helsing shrugged. "I was surprised. It does happen."

"It shouldn't happen." Carl snapped. "You should always be ready for anything! That's what you've told me a hundred times. And now, you're slipping. It's bad enough I have to patch you up from legitimate fights, but when you let a hell-beast take a free swipe at you—"

Van Helsing wondered at the friar's sudden vehemence. "I trust you to watch my back."

"I shouldn't have to watch your back!" Carl stood and began pacing.

"Why are you so upset about this?" Van Helsing asked.

"I'm upset because it was dangerous! I'm upset because it could have taken your head off! I'm upset because you could have been k-killed!"

Feeling vaguely relieved that Carl was chewing him out again, just like old times, Van Helsing pointed out, "Carl, you knew it was a dangerous business when you agreed to become a hunter."

Carl spun and glared at him. "I didn't become a hunter just on a whim, you know."

"Well, then, why did you?" Van Helsing waited, hoping that this time the friar might answer some questions. But to his disappointment, Carl gave him 'the look' and stormed out of the room. Van Helsing had become very familiar with 'the look' over the last five years. Carl always made a face, a glare paired with pursing his lips into a thin line that meant he wasn't saying anything more. Lately, it was always followed by Carl leaving the room. Either he'd come back in a short time and act like nothing happened, or he came back the next morning stinking of alcohol and cheap perfume. Van Helsing sighed, and petulantly threw a dagger at the back of the door, the satisfying thunk doing little to ease his irritation. Whenever he questioned Carl on why the friar had agreed to become his full-time partner, and learn all the skills a Knight of the Holy Order needed to survive, Carl would not explain. Sometimes he'd make some joke about trying to stay alive. Other times he'd claim someone had to look after Van Helsing. But mostly, he just refused to say anything.

Van Helsing became more frustrated as time went on. It didn't help that his own emotions were taking a turn where the friar was concerned. Van Helsing had had his share of encounters along the road, both with lovely women and beautiful men, and he was growing more than a little attracted to the friar sexually, especially with the way Carl had changed over the years from skinny hunching recluse to lean graceful warrior. But the longer they worked together, the more Carl changed in his personality, and that worried Van Helsing more than he could say. Carl's reasons for becoming a Knight were more and more important to Van Helsing, because they might explain why the friar seemed more cold, more hard, and more sharp every day.

He checked his pocket watch. It appeared that tonight would be a booze and floozy night for Carl. He set his pistols close to hand and laid down on one of the rickety beds, trying to ignore the tightening knot of anger and frustration in his chest. Both men had a record of one-nighters a mile wide, why one more added to Carl's tally should upset him so much, he didn't know. But it did anyway.


	3. Book One: Three

ALPHA/OMEGA

Book One

THREE

In the middle of the night, two weeks later, Carl stood over the crumpled body of the warlock, his pistol smoking as the man's blood trickled between the paving stones. About two yards away, Van Helsing knelt and just panted, holding the wound in his side gingerly. Carl whispered a prayer over the dead body, making the sign of the cross. Then he moved to Van Helsing's side, holstering the pistol.

"Can you stand?" The friar asked, his voice thick with worry.

"Yes, yes. Just a moment." Van Helsing gathered his strength and rose. He groaned, and Carl immediately slipped under his arm to provide support. With Carl's assistance, Van Helsing managed to stagger out of the plaza. They made their way back to the middling inn where they'd purchased a room and slipped in the back without too much notice.

Carl did get a maid's attention and request pitchers of water, clean cloths, and food and wine, pressing a pair of gold coins into her hand to purchase discretion as well as service. She brought the water and cloths right away, assuring them that a hot meal would be delivered in a short while.

Van Helsing winced as Carl helped him peel off his leather great coat, revealing the bloody wound. "Sweet Mary Immaculata!" Carl gasped. "Sorry! Sorry."

"It's not deep," Van Helsing hissed, shrugging out of his shirt, "but it hurts like a bastard."

"I should think so!" Carl began carefully cleaning the senior hunter's side. The wound looked like a small explosion had seared him, leaving raw and bloody flesh that looked and felt crisped around the edges. Carl bathed the area as gently and carefully as possible, a tense frown on his face. From his kit, he produced a jar and smeared the contents over the damage. Van Helsing immediately sighed as the pain was lessened somewhat. "That should help for a while," Carl said, pressing a pad of linen bandages against the wound. "It dulls the pain and prevents infection. It's new. Brother Giovanni invented it." He let Van Helsing hold the pad while he dug out long strip bandages to wrap around the man's stomach to hold the pad in place. "You'll probably want Giovanni or one of his people to look at this when we get back to Rome, just to be sure."

"You take good enough care of me, it should be fine." Van Helsing said.

Carl froze.

"Carl? What did I say?"

The friar shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing." He cleaned up their supplies and tossed the bloody water out the window. He pulled a spare shirt out of Van Helsing's bag and tossed it to the seated hunter. "Here. Put that on, or you'll give the poor girl a shock when she brings dinner." Carl rinsed his own face and hands in a fresh basin, drying off just as a knock came on the door.

The maid carried a tray piled high with food and drink. Carl swiftly relieved her of it and thanked her, getting her out as quickly as possible.

"Eat!" he ordered Van Helsing.

"Yes Mother." Van Helsing agreed amiably. Carl gave him 'the look'. "I hate it when you do that!" Van Helsing exclaimed, exasperated.

"Do what?"

"Give me that look. The one that says you're thinking something, but you're not going to tell me."

"Did I give you a look? I didn't notice."

"Carl!" He set down his fork and stared at his partner. The other man blithely continued eating. "I want to know why you're out here, why you're my partner. I never had a partner before you, not that I remember."

"Well, then how do you know? "

"Don't. This is about you. Why are you risking life and limb with me, instead of staying safe in the Vatican, creating more brilliant inventions?"

"It's not important."

"Yes, it is."

"Van Helsing, don't start this. It's only been five years already, you're just complaining now?" Carl growled, abandoning his façade of indifference to show how upset he was by this questioning.

"See! I'm supposed to be the cranky one in this team." When Carl rose as if to leave the room, Van Helsing stood as quickly as he could, reaching out to grab the friar. "You're not leaving this time. I want to know what's going on. You're changing, and I don't like it. I want to know why." This last was delivered with the same growl that Carl used. He had to know, and it had to be now. He could see the man he knew slipping away behind the cold front of the hunter, and it scared him to think that in keeping Carl by his side, where he so much wanted him, he was changing Carl into something Carl should never be.

The two men glared at each other, one demanding, the other defiant. For a moment, Van Helsing feared that Carl would tear himself away, and that would be the end of their friendship, their partnership, brothers in arms no longer. But something in Carl's eyes broke, and he sagged suddenly, looking away.

"All right," he sighed, sitting. "If you're that annoyed, I'll ask Cardinal Jinette to reassign me." He kept his eyes on the table, fidgeting with his plate.

"No!" Van Helsing insisted. "I just want to understand. You've become someone different lately. I – I miss the old Carl." He took his seat across the table.

Carl looked up at him, looking more vulnerable than he had in years. "I'm still me. I thought- I mean, I was annoying you by fussing. So I tried to stop."

"You didn't annoy me. I actually liked it when you fussed." Van Helsing paused, breathing deep. He took a chance and admitted something he normally wouldn't. "I thought it meant you cared. I liked that. That you might care."

Carl looked shocked. "I DO care! I care – I mean, I – I want to say something to you," he said in a rushed way, "And I'll probably mess it up. Please don't get upset with me. I care about you. Quite a bit. Maybe more than I should. And I wanted to work with you because I couldn't bear the thought of you going through something like Transylvania alone. I know now that Transylvania was a unique situation, but I couldn't let you do this alone. I hoped – I hoped that if I helped, it might not hurt you so much. And I hate seeing you hurt." He trailed off.

They sat in silence for a moment. Van Helsing began to smile, realizing that Carl really hadn't changed, that underneath, the man who was his best friend, his partner, his brother, was the same sweet soul who badgered a morose amnesiac with cheerfulness, who greeted new weaponry mayhem with glee, and could still scold like a nursemaid. On the heels of that revelation came a leap in his physical desire for the friar, that desire he'd held in check for ages. Just looking now at the fine roman profile, the fair reddish hair falling around those blue eyes, Van Helsing felt his groin tighten. He wondered if Carl's assertion that he cared more than he should meant what Van Helsing thought it did. He hoped and prayed that it did, because Van Helsing knew that he loved the crazy friar.

Quietly, he said, "I hope you're saying what I think you're saying."

"What?" Carl became flushed. "I mean, we're good friends. Best of friends! And I couldn't go on, I mean I wouldn't want to see you really hurt or k-killed—" He apparently lost track of what he was saying when he looked up at Van Helsing, who by this time was grinning wolfishly at him.

Certain Carl could see what he intended in his eyes, Van Helsing rose and moved around the table. As he got close, Carl stood too, looking startled, and Van Helsing delighted in the fact that he wouldn't have to bend his head much to capture the friar's lips. Which he did, emphatically.

Friends.

Partners.

Brothers.

Lovers?

For one blissful moment, they stood frozen in the sweetest of kisses. But then, with a shudder, Carl suddenly lurched away. "No! I mean, this isn't real. I don't – well I do, actually, but YOU don't, I mean–"

"Who kissed whom here?" Van Helsing demanded.

"You. Um, that is, you – you really want this? Want me?"

Van Helsing nodded, grinning again.

"Well. Well." Carl seemed to need a minute to process this change in their relationship. Then he gave Van Helsing an impish smile. "I suppose there is a God, indeed." With that pronouncement, revealing his own feelings about the hunter, Carl stepped back into Van Helsing's arms, running his hands up into the taller man's dark locks, and kissing him wholeheartedly.

[Note: I don't write sex scenes. I'm terrible at them. Really. Please don't ask me for one, I won't do it. I'm just not any good at writing sex. Slight format change on the paragraphs thanks to changes in this site's formatting. You'll see this format from now on. Please review! Big cyber-hugs to Peekaboo42, but I feel like I'm writing in a vacuum sometimes.]


	4. Book One: Four

ALPHA/OMEGA

Book One

FOUR

He woke to chirping birds, the voices of people in the streets below, and the gentle snoring of one completely asleep friar. Not only was Carl the least morning person he knew, an odd quirk in a holy man, but Carl's head was pillowed on his arm, cutting off much of the blood supply.

He tried to gently slip the arm free, but Carl groaned. "What?" Carl muttered.

"Good morning," he said right in the redhead's ear.

"Gah." Carl started, jerking away. He quickly rolled over, his startled eyes meeting his bedmate's gaze.

"You are truly not a morning person, are you?" He watched as a very clear series of thoughts passed across Carl's face. '_What's Van Helsing doing in my bed? Good lord we're both naked! Did last night really happen? Last night DID really happen! And now let's see how he reacts.'_

Carl's expression softened. "Good morning, Gabriel."

He sucked in a breath. Unable to resist, he leaned over and kissed Carl. "I like that," he said quietly.

"What? Me jumping away from you of a morning?"

He chuckled. "You calling me Gabriel. Never seemed fair that I got to call you Carl, but you always called me Van Helsing."

Carl smirked. "I never minded. I - I was afraid to call you Gabriel."

"Why?"

Carl shrugged. "I thought that if I did, you might figure it out."

Gabriel smiled. "Figure out that you wanted me?" Carl nodded. "I've been resisting seducing you for years! You should have given me a hint sooner," he scolded.

"Hmf. You're just as good at hiding it as I was," Carl protested.

Gabriel pulled him close. "We have a great deal to make up for."

"I agree, but can we do it after we wash up?" Carl waved his hand in front of his face. "We're endangering both our lives with morning breath." At Gabriel's outraged expression, Carl said, "Sorry! Sorry. But it is both of us. Please, if I don't stick my head in a basin of water soon, I'll never wake up."

Releasing him, Gabriel watched as Carl stood unsteadily, dropping the sheets, and with utter ease in his nudity, crossed the room and literally stuck his head in the washbasin. He laughed as the friar shook his head, spraying droplets. "Are you always like this in the morning?" He'd never noticed, or at least, he'd tried not to watch Carl too much. Had he known the friar walked around naked in the mornings -- well, they might have some to an understanding much more quickly.

"Only the mornings after getting buggered senseless," Carl replied tartly. But he blushed almost immediately after. With deliberate nonchalance, he snagged his pants and pulled them on.

Gabriel frowned. Only a moment ago, Carl was perfectly comfortable. "Carl? What's the matter?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all. Are you hungry? I could go down and see if a tray can be sent up." Carl bustled about, washing his teeth, throwing gear together.

Swiftly, Gabriel rose and crossed the room. Grabbing Carl's arms, he said, "You do know last night was not just sex, don't you?" Carl didn't meet his eyes. "Carl?" Struck by a sudden horrible thought, Gabriel whispered, "Was it just sex to you?"

Carl's eyes immediately shot up. "No! Never!"

Relieved, Gabriel relaxed, slipping his arms around the other man and pulling him close. "Well, it wasn't for me either." He tightened his hold on Carl, dipping his head to breath softly into Carl's ear. "You didn't want me to be out here alone. And now, thank God, I'm not." With that he began nibbling on Carl's ear.

Carl sighed. "What do we do now?"

Gabriel grinned. "Skip breakfast." He began pulling Carl back to the bed.

-------------

Later, Carl said, "Will we be able to keep this from Cardinal Jinette?"

"I don't see why not. Just don't tell him."

"He'll figure it out."

Gabriel rolled onto his side to look at Carl. "And if he does?"

Carl frowned. "We could be excommunicated."

Gabriel thought about it. For all that he'd become a hunter, Carl was still a man of faith. "What do you think about us? I mean, is being together worth the risk? I think it is. I think--" He hesitated. It wasn't normal for him to make emotional declarations, but he knew now was the time to reassure Carl. "I think that God might finally be making it all up to me."

Carl's broad smile lit up the room. "Well, when you put it that way, I must be an instrument of God's love, right? How can I deny my Lord's plan for me?" He pulled Gabriel to him, feasting on his lips.


	5. Book One: Five

FIVE

"Carl?"

No response.

"Carl?" He ran his fingers up his lover's spine, to gently stroke the back of his neck. "Wakey, wakey, Carl." The other man shuddered, groaning. A hand emerged from the tangle of blankets and batted at Gabriel. He chuckled. "Come now, time to get up. Time to hunt."

"Ungh." Carl rolled over, blinking. "You hunt. Me sleep."

Gabriel whisked the covers away.

"Damnit, Gabriel!" Carl hissed, sitting up. "It's cold!"

"Of course it's cold, it's Moscow! It's January! Now get up."

Carl muttered curses under his breath as he reached for his clothes. Gabriel spared a moment to admire his lover's excellently formed backside before pouring a cup of tea and handing it over. Curses changed to blessings as Carl slurped down the cup in one go. Soon, Carl was awake enough to check over their weapons and make sure all the equipment was ready. They were going after a group of were-creatures, bears this time. Seeing that the group had left the head of the last agent sent after them lying on an altar, the Order sent out Gabriel and Carl with strict orders to eliminate them.

The two hunters had become even closer since they admitted their feelings to one another. They had become a seamless pair, moving, thinking, acting in unison. Though they still had their distinct personalities, they made a finer partnership than any ever seen by the Holy Order before. Surely Cardinal Jinette suspected the change in their relationship, but he made no comment. As they went through their morning routine of wake up, dress, eat, and arm, Gabriel would pause to run a caressing hand through Carl's hair, or Carl would drop a kiss on Gabriel's shoulder.

Gabriel stretched, kneading his lower back.

"Sore?" Carl asked.

"I wouldn't be if someone wasn't so damned insatiable." Gabriel winked at his lover. Each man gave as much as he took, and neither dominated the other in bed. But in matters of the hunt, Carl still deferred to Gabriel.

Gabriel smiled as Carl finished arming himself. So many changes, and all for the good. For one thing, he felt more at home in his own skin than he had since he'd woken twelve years ago in the Vatican hospice. He'd never even thought of himself by his given name until the first time Carl gasped it as they made love. The disturbing memory of Dracula's mocking purr when saying the name had been obliterated by Carl's beloved voice. He wondered if God was finally forgiving him for his past sins. He must be, for the last three months with Carl had been the best time Gabriel could remember, almost Heaven on Earth. Of course, they still hunted for the Holy Order, capturing or killing those who fell to the Devil's blandishments, but emotionally, he'd never felt stronger or better. He knew he had an almost foolish smile on his face when Carl turned around.

"Ready? What?" Carl asked.

Gabriel took a deep breath. Now was the time. "I love you."

Carl blinked. They had not said that to each other yet, not in three months. "What?" he whispered weakly.

"I love you." Gabriel repeated.

Carl moved to him and kissed him fiercely, their tongues entwining, bodies pressed hard against one another as if to merge into one being. Just as Gabriel began to feel deprived of breath, Carl released his lips and just held him close.

"I love you, too." The friar whispered. He pulled Gabriel's head down so that their foreheads touched, their breath mingling. "Forever. And I mean it."

Gabriel chuckled. "Church's definition?"

Carl's face bore a serious expression. "All my life and beyond."

Gabriel swallowed hard, his fingers clenching on Carl's hips. Carl's words referred to a conversation they had not too long ago, when Gabriel had found a gray hair in his lover's mane of strawberry blond. In the ensuing discussion about the passage of time, Carl had pointed out that not only did Gabriel never seem to age, but he also healed unusually quickly. Carl had come to the conclusion that Gabriel might be more than human, specifically blessed by God. Gabriel had forced it out of his mind, not willing to contemplate the idea that Carl may die and Gabriel may live on alone.

The sounds of people stirring outside roused the lovers. Stepping apart, they both made final checks of their hidden arsenals and donned coats, cloaks, and hats. Time to hunt.

[Thanks to regular reviewers Peekaboo and Verona Dracula, but special thanks to Ellenar, who hated VanHelsing but likes this fic. I hope you'll stick around for the Xmen part! There won't be another update until possibly Tuesday -- I'm out of town this weekend.]


	6. Book One: Six

ALPHA/OMEGA

Book One

SIX

Gabriel holstered the empty pistol. "I'm out!" He yelled. Carl pulled a small sphere from his pocket and threw it at the charging were-bears. Both hunters ducked as the ensuing explosion slaughtered their enemies.

"How many more?" Carl asked, panting.

"I don't know." Gabriel shook his head. They'd stumbled upon not a group of were-bears, but apparently every were-creature in all Russia! Somehow, they'd managed to maintain their monstrous forms even away from the light of the moon. Gathered for some unknown purpose in Moscow, werewolves, were-bears, and were-panthers all ganged up on the two hunters. They were out of all ammunition for their guns, even Carl's shotgun, and that was the last of Carl's latest toys he called 'grenades'.

"Well," Carl sighed, pulling out a silver-coated short sword and a similar dagger, "no way out but through. You're making this up to me later." He grinned at his lover.

Gabriel activated his Tojo blades, the grips dropping from their hidden sleeve holsters to his palms, the blades emerging to whirl silently. "I'll be happy to, love, but first let's just get out of here."

They leap over the rubble from the last explosion. Carefully moving a safe distance apart, so not to hit each other, they edged into the center of the underground cavern where the gathering of monsters had taken place. Dust and flickering torches made visibility poor, but Gabriel could sense that they were not alone.

Suddenly, more were-bears emerged from the shadows, charging and roaring. The area soon became a melee, each being trying to rend another. Gabriel quickly tore one bear apart. When the second came at him, he ducked, slashing as he passed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Carl cut the throat of a third bear, while Gabriel swung back to ensure the one he ducked was finished. In the confusion, he couldn't keep track of the number of opponents, so when he heard Carl suddenly shout, "NO!" he spun quickly, expecting a rear attack.

But what he saw tore him apart more surely than any demon spawn could achieve.

Carl stood between Gabriel and the largest bear yet. The friar's sword was buried in the beast's eye. The monster's claws were buried in the friar's chest. Carl had leapt between Gabriel and the monster's attack. Time seemed to slow down for Gabriel as the enormous beast staggered backwards, ripping Carl viciously as its claws emerged from his chest. Carl seemed to glance over his shoulder at Gabriel for a moment, his expression regretful, before crumpling to the ground.

A vicious and mindless howl filled the cavern, causing even the remaining monsters to pause. It took Gabriel a moment to realize that he was making that noise himself. In a frenzy, he leaped at the nearest bear. Gabriel was lost so deep in grief, he no longer controlled his own mind. Quickly, the fight was over. He hardly knew how. He'd lost a Tojo blade somewhere; on his hand was his clawed gauntlet, and it was bloodied. Dropping the other Tojo and the gauntlet, he staggered over to Carl's body.

"No! No. No no no no...." There was blood everywhere, too much of Carl's red blood. Gabriel knelt and pulled the battered form to him, cradling it, wiping clean the beloved face. Carl's blue eyes already had turned glassy. Gabriel sobbed brokenly, babbling half formed words of love, of denial, of prayers, of damnation. Finally, the blow of losing his love became too great, and darkness overcame him. Monks sent from a nearby Orthodox monastery at the request of the Holy Order found him unconscious, still clinging to Carl's broken body.

End Book One


	7. Interlude

INTERLUDE

"What shall we do with him?"

"If he awakes, and remembers everything, we are to send him back to Rome. But, the Cardinal Jinette informs me that there is a good likelihood that he will not remember anything, even his name."

"And should that be the case?"

"We are to give him a name, any name, and send him to the Archbishop in Ville-Quebec in Canada. They have need of a hunter of his caliber there. Many strange things haunt the wilds of America and Canada."

"It is strange, is it not? He heals so quickly. With this sort of robustness, why would Rome think his mind would be lost?"

"A blessing from God, apparently. In order to continue his work, he is prone to loosing all memory related to great traumas."

"He will not be able to grieve for his partner."

"I believe they were more than partners."

"That is even more regrettable."


	8. Book Two: One

ALPHA/OMEGA

Book Two

ONE

Sunlight made rich beams of gold through the dim office. The room was decorated with understated opulence, heavy with English oak and the scent of books. The man in the motorized chair smiled sadly, briefly, to himself, looking at a picture on the desk of three youngsters. Turning towards the door, he called out, "Come in, Scott." Even as he regretfully slipped the photo under a book, his voice was cultured and even, full of warmth and an underlying note of amusement, as if the whole world tickled his sense of humor.

The young man who entered was barely over thirty, with short brown hair and a pair of wrap-around sunglasses on. He had an air of anger and sorrow around him that made sensitives also living in the large mansion give him a wide berth. He moved as if everything gave him pain, like a man missing a limb, though at a glance, he appeared in excellent physical form. Standing before the large desk, he asked, "You wanted to see me, Professor?"

Charles Xavier smiled sadly at his protégé. Scott Summers still wore his grief over the loss of his wife like a cloak. Two months had passed, and yet the man was still touchy, and the professor felt it necessary to give Scott this news before he notified the rest of the staff of the Xavier Institute. "I wanted to let you know who I've found to fill one of the open staff positions here at the Institute."

Scott relaxed a little. "So, you did find someone? We were wondering. Is he or she... one of us?"

"A mutant, yes. Also highly qualified in a number of fields."

"Well, good." Scott paused, then asked, "Why did you want to tell me now? I assume you're going to announce it at the staff meeting this afternoon?"

Professor Xavier gave Scott a stern look. "I wanted to give you the chance to get anything out of your system in private." He pulled a folder from a drawer. Flipping it open, he slid the folder across the wide desk.

Scott glanced down at the dossier. Immediately, he scowled. Turning, he began to leave the room.

"Scott." The young man paused at the Professor's voice. "Scott, he lost her too."

Without responding, Scott left the office.

Professor Xavier drew the dossier back and closed it. Pulling the photo back out, he sighed. "This world is an uncertain place for a mutant. Must you hold everything else against him too?"

That afternoon, Logan sauntered into the conference room, deliberately late. Quickly, he noted the position of everyone in the room. Storm and Kurt sat comfortably in armchairs, across from the Professor who was next to the table. Scott stood by the windows, staring out.

"Logan, so good of you to join us."

"Listen, Chuck, next time, tell me there's a meeting in person, or send a note. Just quit talkin' into my head, ok?"

The Professor smiled at the man's impertinence. "I shall endeavor to remember."

Logan sprawled into a chair, taking the packet of papers Storm passed him with a nod.

"Well, then. Let us begin." Professor Xavier indicated the packets they all held. "Despite the recent events, and our sad loss, the Xavier Institute is, first and foremost, a school. Storm, Scott, you'll see in the packet how I've rearranged our schedules to balance out the classes for older students. Logan." The Professor turned to the raffish mutant. "It's time you started earning your keep."

Logan sat up. "You want me to teach?" He sounded dismayed.

"Yes I do. However, it will not be Art." Xavier smiled to see the expression of surprised embarrassment on Logan's face. "I'd like you to devise an Athletics Department. You'll be our Physical Education teacher. I'd especially like it if you developed more 'advanced' classes for some of our older students."

Logan nodded. "Self defense and combat training."

"Indeed. I'd like Kurt to assist, if you're willing?" The blue teleporter nodded immediately. "Also, Kurt, I'd be delighted if you'd be willing to create a German Language course for the school."

Grinning, the man replied, "I vould be honored."

"Professor, this leaves the teacher slot open for a lot of the basic classes for younger students," Storm said, reading her packet.

Xavier sighed. He hoped Scott could control himself. "Yes, that brings me to two announcements. Later in the term, we will be welcoming Doctor Hank McCoy to our ranks. He'll be responsible for all our medical needs. He's very highly respected, well qualified, and most importantly, sympathetic to our cause. But more immediately, within a day or two, I expect, we'll have a new teacher for our younger students. One Carl Grey, PhD."

"Jean's brother?" Storm exclaimed.

Logan asked, "Who is this guy?" Both looked to Scott, who ignored them and kept his vigil at the window.

"Yes, Jean's brother. Her fraternal twin, in fact." Professor Xavier said. "He's more than qualified to teach the standard courses to our youngsters, as well as advanced sections in Literature, History, Quantum Theory, Engineering, and if there's interest, a seminar in Archeology."

"Jeez," Logan huffed. "With this guy on board, why do you need us?"

"Does he know?" Storm asked quietly.

"Yes. In fact, I had half a dozen voice messages from him before we landed."

Suddenly, Scott made an angry noise from the window. "And where the hell was he? He left years ago, I can't believe you're bringing him back!"

"Scott –"Began the Professor, but Scott just shook his head.

"No. I'll work with him, and I'll deal with him, but only within the confines of a teaching colleague. He's not on the team." With that, he stormed out of the room.

"So, Scott hates this guy? I like him already!" Logan snickered.

Kurt looked concerned. "Vill this be a great problem? It vould not be goot to haff two teachers at each other'z throats."

Storm shrugged. "Professor? It was before my time."

The Professor nodded. "Scott and Jean and Jean's twin Carl were some of my first students. Carl was not so talented as Jean, but brilliant in his own way. He developed the optics for Scott's visor and glasses."

Logan gave a low whistle. "That smart?" He had an idea of how complex that visor was.

The Professor smiled. "Never give Carl Grey a problem unless you really want an answer. He'll disappear into his research. I had a difficult time getting him to come back to us. He was heavily involved with the Talamasca."[AN]

"The who?" Logan asked.

"Nevermind," Storm poked Logan, hushing him.

"The three were very close. And then, something changed. Tension began building between Carl and Scott. I honestly don't know if it was due to Scott and Jean's relationship, or something else, but one day, Carl packed up and left. The Greys are well off, and since Carl was not obviously a mutant, he found it easy to enroll in college. He's been either attending universities or engaged in research ever since."

"You said he wasn't as talented as Jean." Logan pressed.

"Carl does not have the telepathic or telekinetic abilities Jean had. His mutation is more the possession of a genius intellect than any special abilities, though he does have more prescience than Jean, in a rather unique way. He sees both the future and the past."

"Vhat goot vould seeing the past be?" Kurt asked.

"Many mysteries are lost to the passage of time," the professor stated. "But Carl's visions are not so broad. He sometimes sees very specific images of the past or the future. A specific event. A person. Though he says he remembers his own past life."

Logan snorted in derision. "Sounds like a fruit loop."

"You'll have to judge that when you meet him. I expect he'll arrive by the day after tomorrow." With that, the professor dismissed them. Classes were scheduled to begin in ten days.

[AN - Anne Rice reference. It's not important to the story]


	9. Book Two: Two

ALPHA/OMEGA

Book Two

TWO

_They were under attack. Monsters, huge and deadly, came at them from all sides. Suddenly, there was a shout. He turned to see the other person, his partner, being mutilated by a monster, then falling, crumpling. He was overcome by anger, grief, horror._

Logan sat up, panting. Since Alkali Lake, he still dreamed vividly, but now instead of nightmares about the procedures in the underground complex, he dreamed of battles and people he couldn't recognize. Sometimes he had companions, sometimes not. Sometimes, the dreams looked like movies about the past, and those he tried to write off as symptoms of 'too much TV'. Too often, the dreams involved looking at a dead body, and knowing that he was responsible for that death. But when the dreams turned really bad, they often turned to this one fight. Huge dark monsters, and the death of someone very important.

He often associated the dream with Jean. If asked, Logan couldn't have said what it was about Jean Grey that so attracted him. Somehow, he'd known she'd never give up Scott for him. Maybe it was her beauty, or her inhibitions, or her manner. He might have easily said it was her scent. She seemed so familiar to him when he first met her. He never reached out to people the way he reached out to Jean, emotionally. Maybe it was love. Maybe not. In hindsight, he couldn't really say.

Rising, he went though his waking routine of cracking every possible vertebra. He threw on a pair of sweats and a tee before sauntering out of his room. In the day and a half since the staff meeting, he'd spent most of his time in the small office beside the school gym, planning classes. It wasn't as hard as he'd expected. Kurt made an enthusiastic assistant, even volunteering to teach gymnastics to any interested students. They'd hit on a method of allowing the students to choose their own activities. It should allow the kids to stay interested.

Logan paused, glancing out the large picture window on the landing. A car he didn't recognize, a blue WRX with some enhancements, was parked in front of the mansion. He went down the stairs, noticing the students gathered about in the foyer, especially the giggling group of girls. Rogue was there, and she waved as soon as she saw him.

"Hey, Logan."

"Hey, kid."

"So, who's the new guy?"

Logan frowned. "What new guy?"

"Some new guy, an adult, just showed up in a tricked out WRX," Jubilee explained from behind Rogue.

"Redhead. CUTE!" The others chimed in agreement.

"Huh. Probably the new teacher. Which means he's too old for you," Logan warned, giving Jubilee a stern look. She just giggled.

"You knew? What's his name?" Rogue asked.

"Carl Grey." Logan walked away before that could sink in. Even so, he heard the escalating whispers as the students started the obligatory gossip grind. It was a small school, with everyone living together. The gossip mill was fast and effective. Soon everyone would know who the new teacher was, speculate on his relationship to Jean, wonder why they'd never seen him before, and so on and so on. Personally, as long as the guy wasn't a complete nut, Logan couldn't care less about him.

He spent the day in the gym again, making note of what equipment they had, what needed repairs or replacement, and what could be added. The underground compound had a complete weight room, but the gym did not. Logan talked with Kurt about getting free weights or a nautilus. They agreed that either would be useful, and Kurt promised to see the Professor about getting a purchase order for the equipment.

In the afternoon, Logan walked around the mansion grounds, enjoying a cigar. He spotted the Professor and another person seated near the memorial they'd erected for Jean. Not wanting to butt in, he took a left and went in a different direction. He assumed he'd meet the new member of this menagerie at dinner.

It wasn't until much later, almost midnight, that Logan realized he completely forgot about the new guy. He'd ended up driving Rogue and two other girls to a fast food restaurant for dinner. Half the students in the Institute didn't officially exist, or were run-aways like Rogue, making it hard for them to get licenses. He himself didn't even have one, but he never let that get in his way. Rogue had teased him about it.

"You'd have to decide, is 'Logan' a first name or a last name!" She'd joked, earning a growling response that he didn't mean seriously, and she never took it as such. Logan and Rogue had settled into an easy sibling relationship, which meant he sometimes had to put up with listening to her talk about Bobby too much, but he didn't really mind.

Wandering downstairs at midnight, too restless to try and sleep, unwilling to experience the nightmares again, he caught the sound of raised voices. Just as he reached the foyer, the door to Professor Xavier's office opened, and Scott stormed out. He gave Logan one glare, then brushed by him and headed up the stairs. Behind him, the office door didn't quite close, and light slipped out onto the floor.

Now curious to see what had gotten Scott into such a pissed-off state, and secretly admiring the skill it took to do that, Logan crossed the foyer to peek into the office. The desk lamp was lit, and he could see the surface of the desk strewn with paperwork. Next to the desk stood a man of average height, with short spiky reddish hair, staring out the windows into the darkness, his back to the door. Pushing the door open silently, Logan slipped into the room. "Hey," he said, shattering the silence.

The man jumped, spinning around and knocking a stack of folders on to the floor. "Jesus! Sorry, sorry!" He knelt quickly and gathered up the scattered papers. "You scared me half to death!" He chuckled, apparently amused. Placing the folders back on the desk, he turned fully to face Logan, but suddenly froze. With a startled and somewhat shocked expression, he said, "Gabriel?"


	10. Book Two: Three

ALPHA/OMEGA

Book Two

THREE

It felt like a blow. To be back here, to try and find a way to fit in again, was difficult enough. To have to admit to the Professor that he was unconvinced of his sister's death was painful, especially standing before a granite memorial. To see Scott and have all the same old arguments again was torture. But to look up, and look into the face of his past lover was shocking beyond anything he'd ever experienced. Amazed, he said, "Gabriel?"

The unkempt man before him narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "The name's Logan. And you are?"

"Right! Sorry, sorry. I'm Carl." Recovering, he stuck his hand out, nervous. What would it be like, to touch him after a lifetime of searching? Carl felt certain this was Gabriel, and yet, clearly this man didn't know the name. Could this mean that something terrible had happened to Gabriel, to make him forget his past - again?

The man now named Logan stepped forward. He hesitated a moment before taking Carl's hand. "You're not gonna suddenly tell me my future, are you?"

Carl laughed, trying to dispel some tension. "No! No, it isn't 'The Dead Zone', it doesn't work that way."

Nodding, Logan took his hand and shook it firmly. Carl managed to refrain from shivering. Eagerly, he looked over Logan. He'd cut his hair, Carl thought, faintly sorry for the loss. Also, Gabriel used to be good about shaving. Now he clearly hardly bothered. Still, the silent and dangerous grace was still there, and the piercing eyes. Even his voice was still the same, but lacking the faint Dutch accent. But unfortunately, there wasn't a spark of recognition in his face. Carl realized sadly that this man, this Logan, remembered nothing of the past.

"So! Where are you from, Logan?" Carl tried to maintain some equilibrium. He also tried to keep from leaping at Logan and kissing him senseless. He doesn't remember, Carl repeated to himself over and over.

Logan inhaled deeply, his expression taking on a frowning confusion. "Canada," he answered distantly, as if he wasn't paying attention. He stared piercingly at Carl, and Carl had to resist taking a step backwards.

"Really? You don't have much of an accent. Did you grow up there?" Carl knew he was on the edge of babbling, but really, this was all just too much for him to take in one day.

"What? No. I don't think so." Logan seemed distracted.

"You don't think so? Don't you remember?"

"I don't remember anything before the last fifteen years. What is this, twenty questions?"

"Sorry, sorry!" Carl waved his hands as if to fend off an attack. "Just curious, actually."

"What are you doing in Chuck's office?" Logan asked.

"Chuck?" Carl couldn't restrain a chuckle. "Oh, I bet he just loves that. I'm reviewing student records. I've only got a week to get to know everyone, and see what classes are needed, what level everyone's at, and so forth. And I really don't sleep much, so I figured I might as well get to work. The Professor showed me which files to use."

Logan nodded again. Carl almost smiled. He'd always had to check to see if Gabriel was listening, since the man tended towards taciturn. Logan had the same habits. One of Carl's theories about this man was proving true – his essential personality didn't change.

"Well, don't forget to turn out the light. 'Night." Logan gave Carl one more long look, then sauntered out the door. As soon as the door shut behind Logan, Carl collapsed into a chair. Slowly and with great deliberation, he leaned forward and banged his head against the desk a few times. With a groan, he finally sat back and stared at the ceiling.

When he was twelve, his mutation began to kick in. He would be in the middle of a shower, or a class, or walking down the street, and his brain would be assaulted with visions. Sometimes he'd even collapse, gasping, blinded by scenes of the past or the future. At the same time, his twin sister Jean started having 'fits' that rattled the furniture. Desperate, their parents had taken them to every doctor - and priest! - they could find. Then one day, a man showed up at their home. Professor Charles Xavier. Carl and Jean were whisked away to this ornate mansion in New York, where they found themselves learning about their mutations and developing the powers. Well, Jean did. Carl found himself quickly left behind by his sister's extraordinary abilities. His were neither as powerful nor as useful. His ability to function on three hours of sleep or to absorb and understand the most advanced sciences known to man paled next to Jean's telekinetic ability. His own mutant power, to see the past or the future, was sporadic and uncontrollable, and completely unpredictable. Eventually, Carl gave up trying to develop any powers beyond what he already had. He quit trying to control the visions, but continued to carefully record every one, and concentrated on academics. He was taking college correspondence courses by the time he was fifteen. On his own time, he pieced together every bit of information his visions gave him. Soon, he had a fairly complete view of a very interesting life as a friar and inventor for the Holy Roman Church. And in that life, he remembered his lover, Gabriel Van Helsing. Unfortunately, his obsession with his past drove a wedge between himself and his best friend, Scott Summers. Still, he'd devoted years to the development of specialized glass and optics to control Scott's powerful eyes, freeing the teen from self-imposed blindness. The day Scott could safely open his eyes was a celebration, and it was the day he finally saw Jean for the first time. Carl's sister, compassionate to a fault, fell for Scott just as hard as Scott fell for her, and suddenly, Carl found himself very much out of the loop. It didn't help when he admitted to his friend that he loved a man, even when that love was more than a hundred years old. For a mutant, Scott was remarkably closed-minded about homosexuality.

Carl spun the swivel chair in which he sat, watching the ceiling rotate. It's not that he didn't like women, he did, and found pleasure with a number of them over the years. But ever since his visions reminded him of Gabriel, nothing compared to him.

He'd left the Xavier Institute for a number of reasons, not the least of which was to find Gabriel, searching everywhere. Carl convinced himself that his past lover still lived. He made important contacts in obscure organizations. He'd learned that the Holy Order had disbanded not long before World War Two. He had corresponded privately with Jean, and using visions of the future to ensure financial independence, he paid for Jean's medical school even through she stayed close to Westchester, despite his wish that she'd join him at Yale. Eventually he joined the Talamasca, an organization dedicated to studying the paranormal and supernatural. He met a number of 'closet' mutants, people who thought their abilities were paranormal rather than biological. He constructed theories about Gabriel, equating mutation with Gabriel's unusual abilities. He bent his mind to unraveling the past. He'd nearly reached a point of despair, thinking he'd never track his lover down, when he felt the sudden fragmenting of his sister's spirit. Subsequent conversations with Professor Xavier had led to the teaching position back here. And in returning to his recent past, he'd rediscovered Gabriel at last.

And Gabriel didn't remember him in the least. He didn't even remember being Gabriel. "Well, shit on me," Carl muttered to the ceiling. A grandfather clock in the hall tolled two, and he stuck his tongue out in the general direction of the sound. Rising, he gathered the student academic records and headed for his room.


	11. Book Two: Four

ALPHA/OMEGA

Book Two

FOUR

Something about Carl Grey was driving Logan crazy. The man had only been there four days, yet Logan somehow became hypersensitive to the man's presence. He smelled like Jean. That was the only explanation Logan could come up with. Carl smelled like Jean, only even more familiar. And what's worse, he actually liked the guy.

Carl was funny in an offhand way, and had the tendency to 'geek out' at the slightest provocation. He'd corralled Bobby into testing the exact temperatures of Bobby's ice abilities. He challenged Kitty to try walking through denser and denser material. Storm refused to engage in any experiments, but Kurt indulged Carl endlessly, once popping as far as Berlin and back within a matter of seconds, bringing that day's edition of the Berlin paper to prove it. Younger students immediately adored Carl, and the teenaged girls giggled whenever he walked by. Which made Carl blush furiously, which cracked Logan up.

"What sucks is, he's an OK guy," Bobby had complained the third night to Logan. Several of the girls had convinced Carl to play foozball with them. Bobby and Logan stood off to the side, watching. "Like, I could hate him, 'cuz even Rogue is being stupid about him, but then he does something cool like soups up the computers for everyone."

Logan chewed on his unlit cigar a moment. "I know what you mean, kid."

Bobby made a face. "You like him because his mere presence ticks off Cyclops."

Logan smirked. "There is that."

----------

Classes started in three days. That evening, Logan wandered outside to smoke. Not long after he lit up, he heard a voice say, "That's a rather dangerous habit, don't you think?"

Turning, he found Carl sitting on a bench, watching him. "Maybe. Not like I'm going to get cancer."

Carl frowned. "It gives you a scent. I can tell where you've been by it."

"Really?" Logan's opinion of Carl went up a notch. For a geek, he was observant.

"Really."

"What's that?" Logan asked, seeing something dangling from Carl's hand.

Wordlessly, Carl presented the item to Logan. From a chain hung a silver crucifix. "Nice," Logan commented noncommittally. Then suddenly, he had a sudden flash of memory. He could see this crucifix against brown fabric, robes, like a monk's robes. The monk turned away as he looked up, and the memory was gone.

Carl was staring at him intently. "Something wrong, Logan?" From his tone, it seemed he expected a reaction.

Logan shook off the memory. "Just -- reminded me of something."

"Really. I thought you didn't remember anything other than the last fifteen years."

"Yeah, and you supposedly remember lifetimes." Logan got defensive.

"Just one," Carl replied, calmly and a little sadly. He held out his hand, and Logan dropped the crucifix in it. "Just one," he repeated, whispering and rubbing his thumb over the cross.

"Say, if you -- SAW something about me, you'll tell me, right?" Logan asked, hating how uncertain his voice sounded. He knew he'd vowed to give up trying to remember his past, and start living for the future, but he couldn't help wondering if Carl's erratic gift might not be useful.

Carl stood, and regarded him silently. Logan felt like he'd disappointed the other man, and couldn't figure out why. Finally, Carl said, "I don't know anything about you Logan." And he went back into the mansion.

It took a few minutes for Logan to realize that Carl's last two words could have been hyphenated.

----------

After wandering around the grounds a while longer, Logan went back inside. As he padded down the halls, he heard voices, eventually placing them as Carl and Professor Xavier. They were in a classroom, talking.

Curious, he paused to listen.

"I can't do this!" Carl sounded stressed.

"Are you certain that he is--"

"Yes! God, in my sleep I'd know."

"So what are you going to do?"

"What can I do? Pray, I suppose."

There was a rustle of movement, and then Logan heard nothing more. Could they be talking telepathically? Frowning, and a little embarrassed for eavesdropping, he walked away.

_(Big hugs to all who've reviewed or emailed me with comments. They do help immensely! Remember, this is all movie-verse, so some things are not quite the same as the comics.)_


	12. Book Two: Five

ALPHA/OMEGA

Book Two

FIVE

The days passed, and classes began again. Even as life at the Institute settled into a routine, the Professor began to receive disturbing reports from around the world. There had been riots, violence targeting mutants. Worse, there had been acts of retribution against normal people for the riots, and a number of outspoken public figures who favored mutant registration or worse had received death threats. Professor Xavier was concerned that Magneto might be undertaking a propaganda campaign, preaching his 'war' views to mutants around the world. Storm and Carl spent hours tracking down information, much to Scott's dismay. Daily, it seemed, he complained about the level of trust the Professor gave to Carl. He complained about Carl's security clearance, Carl's improvements to the X-Jet, the space he was allotted for a lab in the compound. Finally, Xavier took Scott aside and gave him a good talking to. Now, the team leader kept a very formal and coldly civil distance from Carl.

Logan could see that it tore at Carl every time Scott made some new veiled insult. "Man, why do you let him get away with it?" he asked Carl once.

"Because he's hurting. If insulting me makes it hurt less, why do I care?"

Logan shook his head in disbelief at the other man's forgiving attitude. "You're like, a priest or something."

Carl smiled a strange little smirk. "More like a friar."

"Right! You're a friar, not a monk." Logan laughed and walked away. He didn't know where the comparison came from, but it apparently startled Carl, who jumped and stared after Logan. Logan's problem was that the more he hung around Carl, the more he said strange things like that. And the dreams were getting vivid. Sometimes, they'd even get erotic, before his errant brain would snatch those pleasant images away and dump him back into the caverns with the monsters and the dying partner.

Then one morning, he woke up from the same disturbing dreams with two realizations. The partner was a man. And the partner was the lover.

Preoccupied all day with these revelations, he went through the motions of a day. Finally, he went to see the Professor. Just as he raised his hand, the door opened.

"Ah, Logan! I was just about to send Kurt here looking for you. We have a situation." Professor Xavier rolled past Logan and led the way to the elevator. "It seems that a Pure Human rally was disrupted by a series of explosions."

"Explosions?"

"Of a most peculiar type. No one saw any devices, yet fireballs leaped into the air, igniting a number of placards, posters, banners, and several nearby trees."

Logan cursed. "Pyro!"

The professor nodded solemnly. They entered the situation room, where Scott, Storm, and Carl were waiting. "I'm going to use Cerebro to see if I can't locate John. Scott, you, Storm, and Logan go to the scene of the rally and see what you can find out. Kurt and Carl will stay here to assist me and keep an eye on our students."

Everyone nodded and headed off for their assignments. Carl paused, having noticed that Logan was staring at him oddly.

"Logan? You OK?"

"Yeah." Logan scowled. "You'd tell me, right, if you have a vision about me?"

Carl smiled faintly. "Just be careful out there." He left the room.

"Is there a problem?" Storm asked quietly.

"No! No, no problem at all," Logan said, turning a charming smile on the lovely woman.

Storm was unconvinced. But instead of pressing Logan, she walked with him, nonchalantly chatting. "You know, I did find out part of what Scott doesn't like about Carl."

"Really?" Logan hoped she'd pass on the gossip.

"Apparently, Carl is convinced he can find his lover from his past life."

"So? Sure, it sounds stupid, but it's his life."

Storm glanced up at Logan. "Carl apparently told Scott that lover was male."

Logan stopped, causing Storm to turn. "He's gay?"

"So it seems."

Logan thought about it for a moment. Maybe a few years ago, even a few months ago, he'd have immediately decided to hate Carl after hearing that, but he did like the guy, and after last night's round of dreams, he couldn't cast stones. Boy, he really wanted to talk to the Professor about that. "Seems kinda lame, doesn't it? A Mutant being a homo-phobe?"

Storm grinned, pleased with Logan's reaction. "Doesn't it?"

----------

They could get no useful information about the rally. No one was injured much. No one claimed responsibility, but the damage had all the hallmarks of Pyro's doing. Bobby and Rogue were going to be upset, Logan thought as the team returned to the mansion.

The Professor immediately brought them together again. "I was able to tentatively track John down," he announced.

"Tentatively?" Scott prompted.

"Yes. There appears to be a gathering of mutants in the mountains not far from Las Vegas. I even caught a glimpse of Mystique."

Logan growled. "Where there's one--"

"There's Magneto." Storm finished.

Xavier nodded. "They all seemed concentrated in one area, but at times I could lose any sight of them. And several of them felt - odd. Not what mutants normally feel like to me."

Carl jumped up and started pacing. "You say there were several mutants? And when you lost sight of them, were they moving in any particular way?"

The Professor thought a moment. "It was almost as if they'd left the room."

"This Magneto, you can't track him directly, can you?"

Professor Xavier shook his head. "I suppose I should look in on Eric at random times, rather than stalling until necessary, but I dislike 'keeping tabs' on him. I hoped that he'd see things our way after our last -- encounter. However, some time ago he developed a helmet which blocks my abilities."

Carl kept pacing, muttering to himself. Logan frowned and looked up to see Scott watching Carl and rolling his eyes a little.

"Well? Don't keep us waiting!" Scott said, sounding less annoyed than usual and more anticipating.

Carl finally snapped his fingers. "A stronghold!"

"A what?" Asked Kurt.

"A fortress, a bolt hole, a hideout. He's building a hideout, and he's using the same technology he used on his helmet to shield the place from you, Professor."

"From a stable base, he could set up communications, networks, a whole blanket of influence." Storm exclaimed, catching on to Carl's line of thought.

Professor Xavier nodded. "Well, then I think we should drop in on our friends."


	13. Book Two: Six

ALPHA/OMEGA

Book Two

SIX

"You sure this is the place?" Logan growled, nerves on edge.

Scott nodded. "The professor and Carl put it here."

"Oh, now you trust him?" Logan snarled.

Scott glanced over at him. "What, you got a crush on the geek? Got a thing for any member of the Grey family?"

"Knock it off, both of you." Storm ordered, putting a hand on Logan's chest to keep him from approaching Scott.

They were entering the caverns that the Professor had pinpointed as the entrance to Magneto's possible hideout. The four team-members - Scott, Storm, Logan, and Kurt - were carefully picking their way through.

Kurt crouched down, examining the floor. "Vouldn't people using this place leave tracks? Here I see only the marks of animals."

"Maybe there's another entrance," Scott said.

They made slow but steady progress into the caves. Eventually, they came to a large cavern, big enough that their flashlights didn't fully penetrate the darkness.

"This place is huge," Storm said wonderingly. She made as if to explore, but Logan grabbed her arm.

"Wait." He sniffed. He trusted his senses a great deal, and two things about this place were creeping him out. One, it seemed very much like the cavern in his nightmares. And second, there was a very very familiar scent in the air, and it was setting off every mental alarm bell he had. Waving the others to stillness, he listened very closely.

Scott watched Logan, having learned the hard way to trust the Wolverine. But he still jumped when Logan suddenly snapped, "Kurt! Get Storm out of here! Scott, be ready!" A sudden squeak from Storm and a popping sound told Scott that Kurt had gotten them away when a low snarl emerged from the shadows. As Scott raised his hand to his visor, prepared to adjust to any attack, he heard the distinctive _shing _of Wolverine's claws extending.

A massive form lurched into the weak light cast by Storm's abandoned flashlight. Scott stared up at the creature from a nightmare. A huge half-man, half-wolf stood there, slobbering and snarling. Soon, the sound was echoed around the room.

"We're surrounded." Logan's voice was grim, implacable, and far deeper than usual. Scott spared a glance to see the Wolverine seemed changed, almost calm. "Werewolves. Among others," Logan said matter of factly.

"There's no such thing!" Scott snapped, edging closer to Logan. The fierce mutant seemed to stand taller than usual, but still poised for action. Scott made mental note of the difference -- Wolverine always crouched when tensing for combat, but now he seemed loose, relaxed almost.

"There certainly is." Just as Logan made that stunning announcement, the monsters attacked.

Despite their best efforts, they were quickly separated. The monsters could be burned and thrown back by Scott's eyes, but they didn't seem to die. Logan was a snarling dervish, growling and slashing at the were-creatures just as viciously as they swiped at him. "Don't get bit!" Logan hollered, using his claws to drive one back.

Unfortunately, his advice came a second too late. Scott had stepped back to find better footing, only to find himself backed against another beast. Quickly, the werewolf snapped at his raised arm. Scott blasted the thing away, but almost instantly felt a stinging through his entire body.

With a pop, Nightcrawler reappeared.

"GET SCOTT!" Logan roared, fending off several werewolves so that the blue man could grab Scott and teleport away. He roared as a pouncing were-panther toppled him to the ground, sinking its claws into his back. He swiped behind his back with his claws, raking across the beast's eyes. It snarled and retreated, allowing Logan to spring to his feet. An instant later, Logan felt arms wrap around his chest, and with a pop and a flash of nothingness, he found himself lying on the floor of the X-Jet.

"Go!" Kurt called, and Storm sent the jet flying back to the mansion.

As soon as he found his footing, Logan checked on Scott. Kurt was trying to hold the man still, but he kept writhing as if in great pain.

"I don't know vhat to do! He hass only this one wound here." Kurt's voice was strained as he indicated the bite on Scott's upper arm. "Och! You are bitten too!"

"No, just scratches. I'm fine." Logan insisted calmly, even as he winced. The monsters had clawed him, but not managed to bite.

_Logan, what has happened?_ The Professor's distinctive voice filled his mind.

_We were ambushed. By werewolves. Scott's been bitten._

_Werewolves? How is that possible?_

_Beats me. We're on our way in._

The trip home took only a few minutes, as Storm pushed the jet to its limits. Still, it took both Logan and Kurt to hold Scott down. The team-leader writhed and moaned, sweat rolling down his face. Worse, whenever he could slip a hand free, he'd try to claw off his visor, risking everyone. Logan mentally urged Storm on with every passing second. He could feel a growing sense of panic in his chest, brought on by the frighteningly familiar attack, the disturbing nature of Scott's reactions, and the disjointed memories that told him Scott's reaction was odd. How the hell did I know those were WEREWOLVES, of all things? Logan wondered. Something about the scent had triggered memories, knowledge he never knew he possessed. After all, werewolves were myths.

But apparently not.

Moments later, Storm maneuvered the jet into its underground hanger. As soon as they opened the hatch, Carl yelled up to them, "I've got a gurney here, bring him down!" Logan sighed in relief. He spared a moment to look out, and saw Carl looking up. Their eyes met, and somehow, Logan was able to relax and let go of his panic. Carl was here, and Carl was brilliant. He'd know what to do.

Logan and Kurt deposited Scott onto the gurney, and Carl quickly strapped the afflicted man down securely. "Easy, brother," Carl said softly, soothingly. "You're home safe." He glanced up at Logan. "Anyone else bitten?"

"He vas injured. But, he says he is fine." Kurt said, pointing at Logan.

"I am! Scratched up, but that's already healed."

Carl nodded, apparently satisfied. "Let's go."

They all gathered in the medical clinic, Scott's moans and gasps keeping everyone tense. Professor Xavier awaited them there, and watched over them all. "I will try to get through to him," he agreed when Carl asked. He placed his hands on either side of Scott's face, his brows drawn in concentration. After a moment, he whispered, "Burns. It burns."

"Scott? Brother, tell me everything," Carl ordered, his voice even.

"Bit my arm. Fire, burns, burning inside. My eyes burn!" Scott's pain caused the Professor's voice to shake. He released Scott, who thrashed on the gurney.

"The werewolf venom is interacting badly with his mutation. I don't know how this could happen! You were underground, there was no moonlight! They shouldn't have been in wolf form at all!" Carl seemed to struggle to suppress his own panic.

"The full moon isn't for another six days," Storm said.

"Werewolves, after their first full moon, turn at any moonlight. But there has to be moonlight. On top of that, they're supposed to be extinct!"

Kurt sidled up to Storm. "He is babbling."

"No. He's thinking out loud," Storm whispered back.

"Unless the differences are tied to mutation? Sweet Mary Immaculata!" Carl exclaimed, like a man with a revelation. "Damn! Mutant werewolves! Magneto is creating mutant werewolves! How the hell did he do it? There shouldn't be any source of venom! The Church made absolutely sure that the serum was sent everywhere, but that was so long ago, I don't know if any is even available to help Scott!" He glanced at Logan, as if for help.

Their eyes met again, and Logan felt a pull in his gut, an urge to help and comfort the other, a connection he couldn't explain. He tried to project faith in Carl, faith that the brilliant man would be able to figure this out.

Carl's eyes widened, and then he suddenly smacked himself in the forehead. "Of course!" He laughed, causing Storm and Kurt to give him shocked looks. The Professor gasped, and then smiled. Obviously, he'd read Carl's mind. Carl turned to him, and they exchanged identical grins.

"What?" Logan asked, suddenly suspicious.

Carl went over to a cabinet, flinging open the doors and assembling medical supplies. "I'm going to the source."

"Huh?"

"Kurt. Ororo. Please come with me. We will leave Carl to his work." The Professor led the other two out of the room.

"But, Professor, Scott--" Storm began to protest.

"Is in the very best of hands." Xavier finished her sentence, drawing her out of the room.

Logan eyed Carl suspiciously. "What are you going to do? Why am I still here?"

Carl set a tray on a nearby table. He pulled on latex gloves and waved Logan to a chair. "You're going to save Scott's life." He opened an alcohol wipe and ordered Logan, "Roll up your sleeve."


	14. Book Two: Seven

ALPHA/OMEGA

Book Two

SEVEN

Logan watched, feeling surly, as Carl prepared a syringe of yellow fluid gleaned from a pint of Logan's blood. The other man had not explained why Logan's blood was so important, or useful, or how he knew exactly what to do with it. Or what the hell that 'source' comment meant.

Carl cleaned off the crook of Scott's elbow, and carefully injected the serum into the moaning man. Within moments, Scott ceased writhing. His moans subsided to labored breathing. He still sweated, and still did not speak.

Carl sighed in relief. "It's working. I was afraid..."

"Afraid of what?"

Carl just shook his head, putting away medical supplies. Soon, he turned to Scott, loosening the man's bindings and clothing, and pulling a light blanket over him. He checked Scott's pulse and nodded. Motioning for Logan to precede him, the two men left the clinic, Carl dimming the lights.

"He's falling asleep, and that's the best thing right now," Carl said to Logan in the hall. "We should report to the Professor. He'll be relieved."

Logan grabbed Carl as the ad began to walk away. "No. You tell me right now -- What the hell did that 'source' comment mean? How did you know that my blood could heal him, and if you knew it could, what were you worried about?"

Carl looked at the hand on his arm, then up at the taller man. Logan noted with interest that Carl's eyes dilated slightly when he looked at Logan. With a sigh, Carl said, "Logan. I swear to you that I will explain everything eventually. But right now, Professor Xavier and Storm and Kurt deserve to know that Scott will recover. And there's a pack of werewolves loose in Nevada created by Magneto who seems to have found a source of werewolf venom. Once, there was an organization that took care of such things, and I would say just notify them and be done with it, but the Holy Order is as extinct as werewolves are supposed to be, and I'm willing to bet Professor Xavier is going to make this OUR problem. We need to get a move on."

Logan weighed his words carefully, finally releasing him. "OK. But you and me are gonna have a LONG talk, soon."

Carl gave him an odd, sad little smile and shrugged.

----------

Professor Xavier did indeed decide that this was a problem they had to solve. However, once he made that pronouncement, he leaned back and let the team hash out a plan.

"Look, I figure even with the variation that the mutations give, they can still only be killed one way -- silver." Carl seemed to be in lecture mode.

Storm made a face. "You mean to tell me that all the stories are true? Moonlight, silver, werewolves? What's next, vampires?"

Carl shuddered. "You better hope not." Ignoring her shocked expression, he went on. "We don't even have to find out Magneto's plan, just go in and exterminate the werewolves."

"These are people! Can you not save them as you have saved Scott?" Kurt was appalled by Carl's blunt assessment. "I thought you were a man of God," Kurt grumbled.

Carl shook his head. "I'm not. But at any rate, I just don't think there's anything we can do to save them. If they were in wolf form in a dark cavern, then my guess is that there's something about being mutants that changes the normal parameters of being werewolves."

Logan blinked. In his dream, the fight was in a dark cavern. "Are you sure?"

Carl frowned. "Sure of what?"

"Sure that being able to be in wolf form underground is NOT normal? Maybe there are things about werewolves - were-creatures - you don't know."

Carl seemed to give it some thought. "It's possible. But, you said that your claws didn't kill them, and Scott's eyes couldn't kill them, so we'll still have to assume that silver is the only way."

"I still think ve should try and save these people."

"Kurt, under any other circumstance, I would agree with you wholeheartedly. For a time, a werewolf could be captured and cured."

"There's a cure?" Storm gasped, interrupting.

"Er, there was." Carl hemmed, avoiding looking at Logan. "But, these attacked without provocation. I'm going to guess that we can't.... Oh bloody hell." He sighed. "Tell you what. I'll see what I can do about a cure. I'll also get us enough silver ammunition to take care of things if necessary. We should try and find another entrance to that cavern system. If Magneto is experimenting, there has to be a lab or clinic somewhere, right? Storm, can you see what sort of satellite data we can snag?" She nodded. "As the pilot, you'll fly us there and stick to the jet." Before she could protest, he went on. "Even with the size of those caves, you need access to the atmosphere to use your powers. You'd just be in danger."

"Vhat about me?"

"Snatch and grab, my friend. If we find another entrance, a lab of some sort, you'll pop anything useful like a hard drive back to the jet. How are you in combat situations?"

"He's a hand-to-hand man," Logan said. Kurt nodded at this assessment.

"Any good with knives?" Carl asked.

Kurt frowned. "I can, if necessary, break a man's neck vith my hands. But I am not comfortable vith weapons."

Carl frowned as well. "That's not good. Well, I'll get you a brace of knives anyway." Finally, he turned to Logan. "I supposed you have your own special combat style."

With a smirk, Logan caused one particular blade to pop out of his knuckles.

"Funny. But adamantium is not silver." He bit his lip, thinking. "I'll get a full arsenal for myself. Glocks maybe? Clips full of silver. None of you are gun people?" He sighed. "Right, so it looks like you and I, Logan. You'll be mainly back up, keeping me from being bitten. If it comes down to it, I lead, I take all the killing shots. It takes at least three bullets to central mass to kill a werewolf."

"Are you certain you want to take this risk?" The Professor suddenly asked, joining the conversation again. His eyes bore concern and compassion as he looked at Carl.

Carl met the professor's gaze, and for a moment, the two seemed to have a private conversation. Logan watched closely as Carl paled, then shuddered. Suddenly he said, "It doesn't matter. It has to be done. Give me a private, secure phone line and thirty six hours."

"Use my office." The Professor's voice was even, but laden with something like regret.

Carl entered the clinic. He could see Scott's chest rising and falling evenly. Gently, Carl released the restraining straps, and checked Scott's pulse. Satisfied, he set Scott's regular glasses near to hand, and carefully removed the combat visor. Scott sighed and shifted, then raised a hand to rub his face.

"Hello?"

"Good morning." Carl put the glasses into Scott's outstretched hand. "Well, actually, good middle-of-the-night. How do you feel?"

"Rotten." Scott put on the glasses and turned to Carl. "What happened? I remember the werewolf biting me, and Nightcrawler getting me to the jet, but then.."

"You were poisoned with werewolf venom. The team got you back here."

Scott frowned. "Am I OK now?"

Carl nodded. "You'll probably need, oh, bed rest for another day or two, and take it easy for a while after that. We ... we were able to use Logan's blood to create a serum to counteract the poison."

Carl busied himself with shuffling supplies, avoiding Scott's gaze. "If you want, I'll help you get back to your own room."

"I hate it when you pull this shit!" Scott suddenly said, exasperated.

"What?"

"It's Logan, isn't it? Jean said, we'd have no way of knowing how old he was, and he doesn't remember. But you do." He sniggered at Carl's shocked expression. "The way you say his name, you've got it bad."

Carl backed away, his expression wary. "Look, I don't want to get into this right now. You need your rest, I need mine. We're going back in there as soon as we can get ready. Let me just help you to your room, ok?"

"How did you know?"

"What?"

"How did you know he was alive? Was it a vision? You -- you just let me think that you were delusional, insane, wasting your life away on the past. And then you left! You snuck out, middle of the night, no note, you just took off!" Scott's voice rose in agitation. "Jean cried every day until your letter came, and then she didn't let me read it. I had to sit there and wonder what the hell happened."

"What happened?!? How about my BEST FRIEND calling me a faggot?!? Calling me names over something I had NO control over, my powers! Talk about the kettle calling the pot black!" Carl shouted, shaking. "I trusted you, and you threw it all into my face, and then you tried to turn Jean, my twin, the only other person on this rotten planet I trusted, against me! You made my life here HELL!"

"I was scared. I was a kid."

"Of what? That I might hit on YOU?" Carl laughed bitterly. "Didn't I say, there was and always will be only one person for me? You betrayed my trust." He stopped suddenly. With a violent shake of his head, he said, "I am not getting into this with you tonight. You can get yourself to bed." With that, he stormed out of the clinic. He didn't know where he was going. Eventually finding himself outside, he made his way to the granite slab memorializing his sister. "Ah, Jeannie," he sighed, leaning against the stone. "What am I going to do? Tomorrow, the past is going to come back, and I have to make sure it doesn't repeat itself." He turned to press his cheek against the memorial. "Jeannie, I'm so scared."

"HEY! SOMEBODY GET PROFESSOR GREY!"

"Jesus, Jubes, don't scream," Charles Wallace complained from his habitual place in front of the TV.

"Watch your tongue, Charles Wallace," Storm scolded. He shrugged and blinked to the next channel. She went to the door, shooing Jubilee away, and eyed the young delivery driver standing there. "I am a teacher here, can I help you?"

"I have three priority packages for a Professor Carl Grey? My instructions are, only he can sign for them."

Just then Carl came barreling down the stairs. "I'm here! Right here!" Despite the afternoon hour, he was dressed in sweats and a baggy tee-shirt, looking underslept and haggard. He signed for the packages quickly and sent the delivery man on his way.

"What are they?" Storm asked, as Kurt popped in, curious.

Carl smiled weakly. "Supplies."

Logan found Carl in the compound's workout room. He glanced at the three opened boxes on the floor. The first held a professional gun case, opened to reveal two darkly gleaming Barrettas. The second smaller box appeared to be full of clips. Logan assumed the ammo was silver plated at least. The last box was a sword case, long and narrow. He could see several knives of varying style strapped to the inside of the lid, all of the blades apparently silver. The main body of the case held a pair of wakasashis, sheathed, and a long space for a sword. Logan's gaze didn't linger on the boxes. He found the sight in the middle of the room far more interesting.

Carl stood, shirtless, poised with a remarkable sword in his hands. Carefully, he swung the blade up over his head, stepping one foot back. As Logan watched, Carl moved as if in slow motion, shifting positions and guiding the sword through an intricate pattern. He began to speed up, until the movements were fluid and swift, the sword a flash of light in the air.

Entranced, Logan felt his chest tighten. He also felt the blood rush to his groin. The dreams had been more vivid than ever last night, and the dream lover seemed to take on a resemblance to Carl that Logan couldn't deny. He still hadn't had a chance to speak to the Professor about his dreams, and he'd come down here meaning to confront Carl about what the man might know about Logan. There were too many secrets around Carl, and Logan wanted to get to the bottom of them. But watching Carl now, he realized that maybe his subconscious had been trying to tell him something a bit more basic than just illuminating his past.

Finally, Carl wound to a stop, panting a little. He looked up, and jumped to see Logan standing in the door, staring.

"Hey. Sorry. Didn't see you there. I was just, um, practicing. It's Tai Chi."

"I thought Tai Chi was something little old asian women did in parks."

Chuckling a little, Carl wiped the sword down and sheathed it. "It is. But like Karate, there are multiple forms. This is the sword form." He kept glancing up at Logan, nervously. "My -- friends -- really came through, huh? All the blades are silver-plated. The bullets are hollow tip silver-plated, full of silver nitrate. The best werewolf-killing supplies technology can provide." He was definitely trying to divert Logan with talk.

The big man stepped closer, drinking in the scent of Carl. God, he was intoxicated by the scent. Carl crouched to put the sword back in the case, but when he stood, Logan was barely two feet away.

Logan paused, licking his lips. The movement caused Carl's eyes to widen a bit, and he shifted as if nervous. "Storm says you're gay." Logan immediately wanted to kick himself. That's NOT what he wanted to say, and certainly not the WAY he could have said it.

Carl winced and immediately took a step back. "I've -- I've slept with women and men, if that's what you mean."

Logan shook his head. "Let's say, I have this friend, who thinks he might be attracted to another man. What should he do?"

Carl smiled wryly. "He can do one of two things. Suppress it, hide his attraction, pray it goes away. Or, take a chance. Let the other guy know he's interested. Maybe he'll be lucky."

Logan nodded, thinking it over. Aw, hell, who gives a shit, he thought. He reached out, catching the back of Carl's neck and pulled him close. He briefly noted the startled expression on Carl's face as he leaned in and kissed him, forcefully and thoroughly.

There!

Something snapped in Logan's chest with the first touch of their lips. He inhaled sharply, and that familiar scent coupled with the feelings that surged up flooded his brain, and he had this sudden sense of homecoming, of something inside sighing 'at last!' Almost overwhelmed, he let go of Carl, just as the other man brought up his hands to cling to Logan's shirt.

"Gabriel." Carl sighed.

"Who's Gabriel?" Logan growled, frowning. Not a good sign when the person you just kissed whispers someone else's name.

Carl's eyes snapped open, and he made a sudden noise of startlement, releasing his grip on Logan's shirt and staggering back. "Sorry! Sorry, I -- " His voice choked off.

Logan stepped forward, reaching out. Carl's eyes had glazed over, and his face lost all color. At the same time, his breathing became shallow and uneven. Just as Logan touched his arm, Carl's legs collapsed. It took a quick move by Logan to catch the man before he fell onto a box full of sharp weaponry. Easing Carl to the floor, he checked Carl's pulse, and started really worrying when he found it pounding ridiculously fast.

PROFESSOR! Logan yelled in his head, hoping Xavier heard him.

_What is it, Logan?_

_It's Carl! He just collapsed._

There was a brief moment of silence, and then the Professor's mental voice returned. _He's having a vision. He'll come out of it in a few minutes._

Logan waited, holding the unresponsive man. He couldn't resist examining the man in his arms. Carl really bore little resemblance to Jean. Only the reddish cast of his hair was similar to hers; Carl was much fairer than Jean. Carl's eyes were brighter, when not glazed over like they were now. Logan flinched a little when he found himself noting that even Carl's lips were fuller and more appealing to him than Jean's. Logan reviewed their kiss in his mind, and realized that what he'd felt kissing Carl was ten times what he'd felt kissing Jean. His arms tightened around Carl, holding him close. Finally, Carl jerked and blinked, gasping as if he'd run a race. He raised a hand to his face and rubbed his head. Looking up, he said, "Ga -- Logan?"

"What the hell was that?" Logan demanded, letting his fierce tone mask the fact that he still held Carl close. He did loosen his grip as soon as Carl stirred.

Carl sat up. "Welcome to a vision. Um. I guess you caught me?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks." Carl seemed extremely uncomfortable. "That was a short one, I think."

"What did you see?"

Carl shook his head. "I'll have to go over it. They're like dreams. I'll need to write down everything, and analyze it. I think it felt like the future," he said brightly, clearly using the incident to divert Logan. Carl stood, and started putting the boxes to rights.

"Wait a minute! What about -- what about us?"

Carl looked up at him, wary. "You mean the questions you wanted answered last night, or about the kiss?" Logan shrugged and waited. To his mind, either would do. Carl nodded, and said, "Look, there just isn't enough time right now. If I give you some information now, will that hold you until after we clear up this werewolf crap?"

"Absolutely."

Carl cleared his throat. "OK, I knew I could use your blood to save Scott because A- you have remarkable healing abilities, something that's probably tied to genetics, so your blood would carry it, and B- in 1888 you were bitten by a werewolf and then cured. The source of that original cure was unknown, but you were the very first person ever to be cured, and from your blood, the Roman Catholic Church was able to make a serum to cure other werewolves. As for the kiss, that's really something we'll have to work out later."

Logan's jaw dropped. "How the hell do you know all this?"

Carl balanced the guns and ammo in one hand, the box of blades under his other arm. Giving Logan an expressionless look, he replied, "I was there."


	15. Book Two: Eight

ALPHA/OMEGA

Book Two

Eight

Logan lunged after Carl, gripping his arm. "You were there? What the hell does that mean?"

Carl winced. "Fine! Fine. After all, could today get any more hellish?" He yanked his arm from Logan's grip, but rather than fleeing, he set the boxes down and leveled a glare at Logan. "In my last life, I was Friar Carl Gaufried. I was a researcher and inventor for a secret holy order based in the Vatican. The Order's purpose was to research, monitor, and if necessary eliminate unholy creatures. The Order had unprecedented freedom, including the freedom to recruit members from non-Catholic religions and backgrounds. We also had a number of professional hunters, men specially trained to take on monsters. And one in particular was the best. You."

Logan's jaw dropped.

Carl stepped forward. "Think, Logan! Do you really think you SMELL evil? It's a gift, a gift from God we thought. It's probably some sort of ESP. When I first met you, I already knew you were more than human. It was 1881. We found you on the steps of the Basilica, almost dead. But within two weeks, you were fine. The whole time I knew you, you always healed faster than normal people, and now, you heal almost instantly!" Carl shuddered, and backed away. "Even then you remembered little of your past. You remembered Masada for God's sake, but not where you were born." A tragic expression stole over Carl's face. "Just like now. You don't remember. I think you might forget for a reason."

Logan nodded, momentarily ignoring Carl's misery. "I do. I think you're right. What little I remember before wandering around Canada is mostly about pain. What Stryker did to me. And I wake up from the nightmares because of the pain too."

"Who's Stryker? What nightmares?"

"Later. Tell me more!" Logan ordered Carl eagerly. "You keep saying Gabriel. Was that my name then?"

Carl nodded, his expression bleak. "You were named Gabriel Van Helsing."

"Gabriel Van Helsing," repeated Logan, wishing the name triggered more memories. "How long have I been alive?"

"Best guess, over two thousand years." Carl's voice seemed distant, clinical.

Logan chuckled. "Well, at least now I know why you keep calling me Gabriel!" He took a good look at the other man, finally, only to see an unusual expression on Carl's face, one of cool calmness, distant and serious. "Carl?"

"Yes, now you know. If you don't mind, I'd like to go take care of a few things before we head back to Nevada." Without waiting for a response, the man picked up the boxes and left Logan standing alone.

----------

"Professor!"

"Yes Logan. I have time to talk to you now." Xavier welcomed Logan into his office. He observed the eager manner of the normally sour mutant before him. "You've spoken with Carl."

"You knew!" Logan scowled. "I knew you were keeping shit from me."

"On the contrary, I had no idea of your distant past. As I told you, the mind is a very delicate thing. And weren't you already having dreams, memories, of that past even before Carl arrived?"

"I hate it when you get ahead of me like that."

Profess Xavier smiled indulgently. "And now?"

Logan started pacing. "OK, so over a hundred years ago, I was a hunter for the Catholic Church. What does that make me now?"

"What ever you'd like to be. At the moment, this school's physical education teacher."

"Real funny, Chuck. I'm serious. I've never had an idea of who I really was. Carl says I could be two thousand years old! So, I've lived all this time, but I keep forgetting it, apparently. Damn, I wish I could remember more." Suddenly he froze, staring out the window, much as Carl had the night they met. "I keep dreaming about a lover. And it's another man. And I'm happier in those dreams then I can ever remember being." His voice was low and agitated. "Then I dream that I'm in a cavern, fighting off creatures like werewolves, and my lover is with me, and he dies. He looks like Carl, and I can't save him. Just now, downstairs, I kissed Carl and he called me Gabriel." He turned to look at the Professor, who's expression seemed both pleased and wary. "It is Carl, isn't it? I was HIS Gabriel. He was my lover. We both hunted for the Church, until he died, and I lost my memory. I'm the one he's been looking for all this time."

Xavier sighed. "I was afraid that you would react very poorly to these revelations. Carl is sometimes intense in his goals and attitudes. It was odd, occasionally, to deal with a teenager with the remembered life experiences of a man almost my own age. I'm not particularly happy with him for telling you everything. I had advised him to let you remember in your own time."

Logan hung his head. "I bullied him into it. Sort of." He looked at Xavier, and realized that the Professor was the closest thing to a confidant he had. "I can remember now what it was like then, I mean between us, but I don't remember how to be Gabriel Van Helsing. But I like him. Carl. I like him now." He flushed a little. "After all, I kissed him." He frowned. "But then I got carried away with everything he knew about my past, and I kinda let the whole kiss thing go. I think he got a bit mad at me."

Xavier sighed, rolling his eyes. Sometimes, Logan was no better than the students. "Logan, you have to understand that Carl remembers everything from that lifetime clearly. I rather think he expected you to remember him. When you didn't, he was very upset. Now, you've forced him to tell you about that life, and yet it appears to him that you still don't remember what you had together." The Professor's smile became a little sly. "After all, he basically came back from the dead for you. I suppose Carl proves reincarnation is possible."

Logan stared at the Professor, the words 'back from the dead' burning a path through his mind. Carl came back for him.

----------

The X-Men gathered by the doors to the jet hanger. Professor Xavier gave Storm last minute information about the weather and topography of the mountains they were headed for. They had discovered another entrance to the cavernous complex. Nightcrawler was busily contorting himself into odd positions, breaking in the leather X-suit he'd been issued. Wolverine nervously flicked his claws in and out, his eyes trained on the elevator. Carl had not yet joined them.

Finally, the elevator hissed open to reveal Carl. He strode forward, his gait purposeful and smooth. Logan's breath hitched. Carl's movements were controlled and graceful, and his expression dangerous but calm. Here was the hunter he'd become a lifetime ago. He wore brown workman's jeans with boots and a brown shirt under a voluminous tan trench coat. A leather strap across his chest held the silvered sword against his back. The flutter of the trench revealed underarm holsters for the Barettas. Logan assumed that the pockets of the trench held additional clips, and at least two of the knives were secreted on Carl's person somewhere. _He's amazing,_ Logan thought admiringly. The rather goofy scholar had disappeared, and in his place was a person who could give Logan a run for his money. Yet when Logan caught Carl's eye, he only got a distant look and a cool nod. _I did this to him, _Logan realized, dismayed. _Again._ But where that last part came from, he couldn't say.

As Carl passed him, Logan caught sight of the silver chain around his neck. From it, the silver crucifix dangled. Logan gasped as a blinding moment of memory tore through him, of a morning in a monk's cell, hanging a similar necklace around Carl's neck, smiling into his blue eyes reflected in the tiny mirror in front of them.

"Logan?" The Professor's voice brought him back. The others were all looking at him. Giving himself a mental slap, Wolverine cleared his throat.

"Let's go," the Wolverine growled.


	16. Book Two: Nine

ALPHA/OMEGA

Book Two

NINE

"There." Storm pointed. Her graceful arm indicated an apparently natural jumble of rocks. "There's a hidden door."

Wolverine nodded. "Right. Is there somewhere you can put down the Jet nearby?"

"About two hundred yards down the hillside, there's a clearing. I can land there."

"Good. Nightcrawler, mark the spot for your jumps. Carl, have you got --" He spotted the knives already in the teacher's hands. "Good." Nightcrawler took the knives with a miserable expression, unhappy with the violent implications. Wolverine watched Carl ready his equipment. Several safety latches were undone. Carl rolled his shoulders, then resettled his coat. He looked up at Wolverine, but his expression revealed nothing of his thoughts.

"We've gone into a bunch of hostile situations before. Are you sure you're gonna be OK with this?" Wolverine asked, apparently uncertain of the skills in the man before him.

Carl's expression turned baleful as Storm set the Jet down smoothly. "I've gone into hairier situations than this."

"When?" Wolverine earned no points with that, since Carl's stare went from cool to frigid.

"Constantly from 1888 to 1896. Besides, I was taught by the best."

"Who?"

Clearly furious, Carl stepped right up to Wolverine, his posture deliberately threatening. "You!" he snarled. He turned sharply and started down the ramp to the woods.

Wolverine started to follow, but hands grabbed him. He discovered that Storm hung onto one arm, Nightcrawler on the other.

"Don't go in angry!" Storm said quickly. "What's between you two has to wait."

"He vill be fine," Nightcrawler whispered. "Zere is a power in him now. He is dangerous." Wolverine frowned down at the blue mutant, who shrugged. "He hass still the righteousness of one who doez God's vork. Do not vorry."

"Hey. Are we going now or what?" Carl called from outside the Jet, his voice aggrieved.

-----------

Nightcrawler wasn't kidding, Wolverine thought as he kept half an eye on Carl. The other man moved silently and smoothly. Without even thinking about it, he and Wolverine seemed to have their own sign language, one signaling to the other without words, the other reacting to those signals with practiced ease. Wolverine found himself wanting a weapon of some sort in his hands, uncomfortable for the first time he could remember with just his hands and claws. Nightcrawler followed quietly behind, letting them lead.

Carl's face lost its angry tension as they carefully explored Magneto's underground compound. He began to concentrate on their mission, and the resumption of a familiar, hundred-year-old partnership was oddly soothing. Once he'd remembered his position as a hunter, he'd made sure to always keep himself prepared for the possibility he'd become a hunter once again. And now that possibility had become reality. One of the Barrettas sat easily in his right hand. He carried a low-light flashlight in the other.

The X-Men checked every nook and cranny they found. Some were merely dead ends, hardly even qualifying as caves. Others had the look of use, as storerooms, or even living quarters. All were deserted. Finally, they found themselves walking through a definite corridor. Carl stopped suddenly, finding a genuine door in the rock. He signaled the others to wait as he nudged the door open. Crouching, he carefully shined the light in. He crept through the opening. Once he determined the room was empty, he signaled Wolverine and Nightcrawler to join him.

"It iss a kitchen!" Nightcrawler whispered, surprised.

"Even mutants have to eat," Carl observed, amused. They glanced up at Wolverine, expecting a witty remark, only to find an expression of fury on the large man's face. "Wolverine?"

"Watch out!" Wolverine snarled through his teeth, every muscle straining against the grip that now held him fast, frozen by another's power.

"Go!" snapped Carl at Nightcrawler, dumping the flashlight and drawing the other pistol. He flung himself to the side, taking a defensive position against a wall. The teleporter popped out as a figure flowed through the doorway. There was a faint snicker, and a soft sound like wet paper moving. An overhead light suddenly lit the room, and Carl gasped.

"Well, hello again," purred the redheaded woman, running her hand up Wolverine's arm.

"Jeannie?!?" Carl cried, his aim wavering.

She turned a blinding smile on him. "And you've brought friends!" she said, patting Wolverine's cheek. She started towards Carl.

"It's not Jean, it's Mystique!" Wolverine ground out. "And Magneto's got me stuck."

Carl didn't acknowledge the warning, his gaze fixed on the image of his twin before him. He dropped his arms, letting the guns point away. Her smile widened, and she reached out to him. But before she could touch him, she suddenly gasped and twitched as if struck. Her hand went to her head instead.

"You're not my sister," Carl accused. "Don't ever mock her like that again!"

"What's this? Having fun with our guests, my dear?" The rich cultured voice, so like Professor Xavier's in its accent and utter confidence, flowed through the room. "Ah, Wolverine. Why am I not surprised? And who is your friend?" The tall spare man walked through the door as if perfectly at home, bestowing a smirk on Wolverine before turning to Carl. Mystique backed off to stand at his side, dropping her appearance as Jean. They both looked at Carl expectantly.

"Professor Carl Grey," Carl introduced himself, not moving.

"Shoot him!" Wolverine snarled.

Carl shot his partner a look. "I know better."

Magneto smiled, delighted. "I see Charles has at last found himself a lackey with brains."

Carl raised a brow. "I wouldn't call myself a lackey, Herr Lehnsherr."

"Indeed. Grey, you said?" He gave Carl a curious look. "Sibling to redoubtable Doctor Grey?" Carl's chin went up a bit, but he said nothing. "And now you are here to do what?" Magneto continued. "Bring me in, as they say on the police shows?"

"I'm only here about the were-creatures," Carl replied.

"You are, are you?" The silver crucifix dangling at Carl's throat arrested Magneto's attention. "Ah, I see that you are. Ordo Aurae?" An unguarded expression of shock crossed Carl's face. Magneto chuckled. "Well, then I'll leave you to your duty, Knight of a dead Order. We were finished here anyway. So good of you to take care of things for me. Come, my dear." He wrapped an arm around Mystique's shoulders and they walked out of the room.

"What the hell?" Wolverine snarled. "Stop them! Get them! At least shoot HER!"

Carl shook his head. "Our mission is to dispose of the were-creatures."

Wolverine suddenly stumbled forward as Magneto, obviously departed, dropped his control over the big mutant's adamantium skeleton. "Damn it! You had a damned CHAT with that son of a --"

"Logan, shut up. We're not here for them, and even if we do prove they were creating were-monsters, who the hell are we going to tell, huh? I'm more concerned that he knew about the Order, even if it did shut down."

Just then Nightcrawler popped back in. "Ve saw zem leave! A four by four vass hidden. Storm says, do ve chase?"

Carl looked at Wolverine. "You can if you want. I'm going after the were's."

Wolverine sighed. "No, we're not going to chase them. Let Storm know to hold tight." Nightcrawler nodded and popped out.

Carl made a face. "I wonder, does he know that it smells like sulfur when he does that?"

Wolverine rolled his eyes and stalked out of the room.

----------

"Sweet Mary Immaculata!" Carl said, looking around the large underground laboratory. A generator hummed in the corner, powering the overhead fluorescents and a number of computers and other machines. "It's like a genetics lab! Look at all this!" He began to examine the machines, ejecting samples, holding them up to squint at the tiny vials. Wolverine made a circuit of the room, noting exits. Nightcrawler noticed a pair of metal cabinets against one wall. He gave an experimental tug on the handle of one.

Behind them, Carl sat at a computer. He booted it up, and found to his surprise, he didn't even have to hack through any security to access the files. Soon, he was scrolling through documents and genetics code. "Shit! They found a viable source of venom, but then screwed with it genetically! He was trying to find a way to use venom to enhance mutation!" Carl leaned into the screen, fascinated. "He couldn't do it though. The results were unpredictable. The venom overwhelms mutation. But he did try all three known forms, wolf, panther, and bear." His voice shook slightly on the last. "They -- Oh God. He calls them 'donors.'" He continued to read, absorbed.

Nightcrawler beckoned Wolverine over to the cabinets. "Zese are locked," he announced.

"They probably hold something important then." Wolverine decided. He joined Nightcrawler, made a quick check of the lock, and with one claw, popped the lock and opened the metal door. Inside a number of ancient looking books sat on a shelf, wrapped in plastic. Other artifacts were similarly protected, labeled and stored.

"They're dead," Carl announced grimly, eyes never leaving the computer screen. His tone conveyed his sorrow and his anger. "He managed to find a werewolf, a werebear, and a werepanther, all in Europe, and kidnapped them." He continued to read. His voice tightened further. "He harvested venom, then pit the 'pure' were's against the mutant ones. They didn't make it."

While Nightcrawler gently flipped through a large old Bible, Wolverine broke into the other cabinet, only to find more of the same sort of things -- books and artifacts. He meant to dismiss them, when he noticed a black leather case on the bottom, like a fancy storage box. Carefully, he lifted the lid, and stared at the gleaming silver bar nestled in crimson satin.

Carl scrolled through file after file. "The notes keep talking about the 'original experiments'. Could someone else have tried to make mutant were-creatures before?"

"Carl." Wolverine said, weighing the silver bar in his hand. "Carl."

"There's a reference here to the Volkov Grimoire. Volkov - does that sound Russian to you? See if there's a book in those cabinets in Russian."

"Carl!"

"What?" Carl snapped, finally looking up.

Wolverine thumbed the secret button on the silver bar, triggering it. An additional foot of gleaming silver ejected from one end, sharpened to a deadly point. Carl's jaw dropped. "Nightcrawler," Wolverine ordered, "get everything to the jet. Every computer, every piece of equipment, and for chrissakes every single thing in those cabinets!"

The blue man nodded, swiftly gathering a number of books into his arms and teleporting away. Carl and Wolverine stared at each other across the familiar silver stake.

Carl frowned. "It'll take him a while. We need to go on."

Wolverine nodded.

"So, it's going to be just the two of us."

Wolverine nodded again.

Suddenly Carl smiled. "Just like old times, eh?"

Wolverine's return smirk was feral. "Yep."


	17. Book Two: Ten

ALPHA/OMEGA

Book Two

TEN

"You know, I'm a little pissed at you."

"YOU are pissed at ME?"

"You could have told me."

"Oh, right, sure. 'Hi! Remember me? We were homosexual lovers in a past life! Well, a past life for me, at any rate. YOU, on the other hand, have apparently been traipsing around for several millennia!'"

Wolverine frowned. "Only a little more than two, I think."

Carl stopped and stared at him. They'd been exploring more of the cavern system, and they expected to stumble upon a pack of monsters at any second. But somehow, that didn't stop them from carrying on a constant whispered conversation almost the entire time.

"A little more than two! Jesus Christ in a handbasket, Logan, what the hell do you want from me?"

With a grin for the cursing, Wolverine pulled Carl closer. "How about another kiss?"

Carl yanked himself free. "You always did have to flirt while we hunted."

"Did I?" Wolverine thought about it. He didn't recall anything like that. He barely remembered the time Carl referred to. Still, he went along with the bantering because it clearly calmed Carl down. The other man was moving steadily and silently, doing everything Wolverine would do himself -- checking around every corner, staying low, keeping a gun ready in one hand, his dim flashlight in the other. But, the more Wolverine joked, the more Carl let slip about their past lives together. And it certainly helped that he found the transformation from Carl the geeky professor to Carl the deadly hunter extremely arousing. He decided as they prowled the tunnels that even if he never remembered his life as Gabriel Van Helsing, he was going after Carl.

Gliding ahead, Carl grumbled to himself, no doubt a running rant on all of Wolverine's shortcomings. Behind, Wolverine kept grinning, having discovered that yanking Carl's chain was almost as fun as kissing him. Jeez, he was getting obsessed over the kiss, he thought to himself. His mind kept leaping from one thing - Carl's knowledge of Logan's past - to the other - that kiss! If only he could remember what Carl remembered. It almost felt like he was competing against another man, this Gabriel person. If only he could....

A sudden shift in the air currents around him made Wolverine freeze. He quickly reached out and grabbed Carl, who stopped and crouched obediently. The same creeping scent as before assaulted Wolverine's senses. Carl watched him for signals. Wolverine tapped his nose, indicating he smelled their prey. Carl nodded. He sheathed his gun, set down the flashlight, and eased a number of dowel shaped items out of a pocket.

'Flares' he mouthed at Wolverine. Wolverine spared a quick thought of _How many pockets does that damned coat have? _Carl handed two flares to Wolverine. With another, he mimed activating and throwing it. His hand signals quickly conveyed their need for light, and the flares were perfect for the job.

Wolverine kept a flare in each fist as he slowly extended his claws. Carl shifted his shoulders, settling his voluminous coat. The two men looked at each other, and suddenly Logan was gripped with an irrational fear, a compulsion to snatch Carl and run, fleeing from what lay ahead. A mental image assaulted him -- Carl dressed incredibly similar to as he was now, holding a sword and a dagger, grinning up at Logan. Logan felt himself waver, losing his fighting edge as he stared at the man who was once his lover, and might be again. His heart clenched. What if he lost Carl now, when he'd just barely found him?

Carl's brows drew together. Some of Logan's mental anguish must have shown in his face, because Carl stepped closer. Shifting his flares into his left hand, Carl raised his right. He hesitated, then gently touched Logan's face. Logan's eyes closed, unconsciously leaning into the light caress. When he opened them, he locked on to Carl's eyes, colorless but glittering in the dim glow of the flashlight on the ground. Carl's expression was serious and determined, but gave no sign of promises. Logan realized that they couldn't make any promises to each other, not even to just survive what they were about to do. They'd made that assumption once before, to their shared grief.

Finally, he managed to latch on to one idea. They were hunters. The prey was out there. Time to hunt.

Carl sensed Logan's turmoil ease, so he lowered his hand and stepped away. He breathed deeply and nodded at Wolverine. He watched the larger man shudder lightly, then resume his persona as the hard bitten warrior. Inside, Carl sighed sadly. He honestly didn't expect to survive this. Oh, he'd try his damnest, of course, but Fate had a way of biting him in the ass. He fell in behind Wolverine as they began their cautious entry into the enormous cavern, and all he could think was that at least this time around, Gabriel would not be so hurt by loosing him.

----------

Wolverine could hear them almost immediately. The growls rumbled on some sub-audible level. He and Carl made no sound as they crossed the great open space. He didn't want to hug the walls; he instinctively knew the were's would be curled up against them like dens, untrusting of each other. He'd have to sacrifice the safety of a wall against the back for room to maneuver, and less chance of tripping on last night's dinner remains. Finally, he came to a halt. Carl stopped just short of bumping him. Without a signal, the hunter turned to put his back against Wolverine's. Feeling about as prepared as he could possibly be, Wolverine let out a growl of his own.

"Let's get this party started!" he snarled, jamming the butt of a flare against his hip. The other end exploded into hissing red flames, and he tossed it away. Behind him, Carl did the same, and soon they'd created a ring of red light illuminating the chamber. Huge forms rose and howled at them, casting giant shadows on to the cavern walls. Wolverine spared a glance to see Carl draw his guns.

"Any clear shot, I take, so try and stay out of the way!" Carl yelled, just as he raised a gun and fired.

The report didn't have time to echo before another sounded out. In moments, Carl had downed a werebear. As if the death of one of their own set them free, the were's leapt over the flames and attacked.

The guns sounded almost constantly. The two men stayed as close as they could. Carl swiftly determined that a single head shot was as effective as three to central mass, and soon started bringing the beasts down. Wolverine kept to Carl's back, discouraging any rear attackers. They rotated together, covering 360 degrees, until one unfortunate moment, where both turned to look the same direction.

In that second, a werepanther pounced, driving both men to the floor. Carl rolled and came up firing at another wolf as Wolverine slashed at the panther. It shrieked, an inhuman sound worse than any woman's scream. Roaring his own rage back, Wolverine tore out its throat. Behind him, the gunfire stuttered to a halt.

"SHIT!" Carl cursed. Wolverine turned and bounded forward, driving back two wolves, giving Carl time to reload. He did, quickly, and resumed firing.

The monsters did everything they could to bring down the two men. But the past had given both excellent reflexes, and they managed to stay ahead of the creatures, but only by the skin of their teeth. Teeth that both bared at their foes, snarling right back at the monsters that would kill them.

It was the wolves that managed to get them truly separated. Acting as a pack, they managed to feint and draw Wolverine just enough away to cut him off from Carl. The mutant spun and slashed at the beasts, all of them half again his height. He tried desperately to get back to Carl.

He watched as Carl suddenly dropped a gun, drawing his sword from its back-sheath. He turned, and for one half second, his eyes caught Wolverine's. He raised his gun, and in two shots brought down two of the werewolves keeping Wolverine occupied. With that opening, Wolverine was able to scramble free of the pack and he charged for Carl's side. In a lightening movement, Carl jammed his sword into the ground while ejecting the clip from the gun in his left hand. His right dove into a pocket, came up with a new clip, stuffed it into the gun, and reclaimed his sword. It took less than five seconds. It was a maneuver he'd repeat twice more.

Soon, Carl noticed no more panthers prowled the melee. The number of wolves thinned. He could hear Wolverine panting behind him. He felt completely winded himself. Though the fight had only lasted a short time, it felt like they'd been fighting for ages.

A tremendous roar tore through the cavern. An enormous were-bear loomed up behind the remaining wolves. Frenzied, the wolves charged the two men, bodily tackling them. Wolverine rolled with one, snapping its neck. He left it behind quickly, tackling another as Carl took out two with well-placed gunfire. Wolverine ducked his head instinctively, feeling his opponent jerk. Carl's aim was ever accurate, shooting the werewolf fighting Wolverine, missing the mutant by inches. As soon as the werewolf fell, Wolverine spun, eyes widening in horror. Behind Carl loomed the werebear. Carl had turned his back to the larger danger in order to protect Wolverine.

The monster brought its paw down in a massive strike, intending to instantly behead Carl. But Carl saw Wolverine's face, and dove forward, ducking the swing. He never looked over his shoulder. Bringing up his gun, he fired twice, right over Wolverine's shoulder. The mutant spun to see the wolf whose neck he'd snapped crumple. Enraged by Carl's disregard for his own safety, Wolverine turned back and dove blindly at the werebear.

The monster had been about to rake its claws over Carl when Wolverine dove. He struck the arm of the thing, deflecting its blow, but also drawing its attention.

"Logan, NO!" Wolverine ignored Carl's cry, engaging the bear in battle. Gunfire echoed, but the bear didn't even flinch. He was fast, but the bear was more powerful. A glancing blow staggered Wolverine, and as the followup strike descended on him, he knew he was not going to make it.

The pain shocked him. An adamantium skeleton is one thing, he thought wildly, but nothing protects soft tissue. As the bear prepared another blow, he thanked whatever powers there were that Carl would live.

Falling to his knees, Wolverine didn't see the bright blade sever the werebear's arm before the ultimate strike could fall. He faintly heard the rapid report of a full clip emptying into the bear's skull.

Was the silence the end of the fight? Or was this death?

"Logan! Oh, god, Logan, stay with me! No, no, NO! Shit, Logan, listen to me! KURT! HELP ME! Logan? Logan, you stay with me now, don't you dare die on me, Logan!"

Logan?"

No, Logan, NO!..."


	18. Book Two: Eleven

_(Note to readers: I wanted to post the last two chapters at the same time, but the last isn't ready yet, and Real Life has interfered greatly. Therefore, since I was already delayed in posting, I decided to post what I had. Fortunately, the last chapter is 'epilogue'; hopefully, I'll get it done soon.)_

ALPHA/OMEGA

Book Two

ELEVEN

_Pain. Awareness always began with pain._ _He felt his consciousness swimming upwards through a sea of darkness, and he grasped the torment gladly, as proof of life continued. He yearned for his senses, sight, sound, touch, something to connect him to the world once more. He recognized and remembered this feeling, the familiarity of it somehow comforting even as his nerves raged against the pain. _

_Wherever he was, it was quiet. He could hear at least one person moving around. His eyelids fluttered, relearning their job of regulating vision. Finally, he managed to open his eyes. The ceiling above him dimly shone, a uniform gray unlike anything he'd ever seen. Carefully, he turned his head to the soft sounds of movement._

_A woman stood nearby, her back to him. He noted the walls of the room, also gray, and the many tables. All were of some material he did not recognize, bearing devises he'd never seen. These walls were not stone, or wood. Rather, they were unlike any monastery or inn he'd ever seen. The woman's clothing was not that of a nun, or an inn hostess. She wore some strange sort of pants, and very fitted shirt of white materiel that clung to her form. Long unbound white hair hung down her back._

_He must have made some small noise, for she turned suddenly. Her eyes widened when they met his._

"Logan? You're awake?"

_She came closer, and he marveled at her coffee colored skin. He'd rarely seen an African, and none with hair like hers. He struggled a moment, breathing ragged. Finally he was able to moisten his lips and force out a word._

"Carl?"

"I made him go to sleep, or he would have fallen over right here. Logan? You should rest some more."

_Satisfied that his beloved was well and somewhere close, he closed his eyes again and let his lingering exhaustion overtake him. His last conscious moments were wasted wondering why she called him Logan._

_--------------_

_The next time, he let himself drift on the dark tides of semi-awareness. His senses still dulled, he dug through his own mind, trying to remember what brought him to this state. Begin at the beginning, he told himself, and tried to remember his own name._

_My name is--_

_Gabriel Van Helsing. Or is it? (Logan)_

_I am--_

_a Knight of the secret Order of the Church of Rome. (I am nobody. I am a mutant.)_

_I call the Vatican my home. (Chuck's mansion.)_

_Images of the church of Saint Peter filled his mind. He labeled these memories 'Home.'_

_But as soon as he did, memories of a tiny vehicle, 'a truck', 'a camper', and the image of a large mansion house, a school, competed for the title of 'home.'_

_Quickly, a memory of pain._

_Water?_

_Needles and men in uniforms toasting to success._

_More pain. Fear. Anger._

_Carl! His heart cried out for his love. Lost love. Pain of a different sort. Carl, gutted by werebears. Falling. No!_

_Almost immediately, he remembered Carl smiling. Talking to him in a large hallway. The mansion again. Carl with his hair cropped indecently short, talking to young people._

_In an effort to make sense of his memories, he tentatively labeled the Vatican 'the Past'._

_Immediately, his mind became more coherent. He dubbed the mansion 'the Present'._

_Fighting weremonsters. In a cave, in the cold. 'The Past.'_

_In a cave, the glow of red flares. 'The Present.'_

_Other memories fell in line, sorting themselves out, almost without his assistance. To his everlasting relief, one constant asserted itself between 'the past' and 'the present'._

_Carl._

_Satisfied, he let himself wake up._

----------

He could hear two people talking softly nearby.

"It's really amazing. He never used to heal quite this fast."

"It's pretty much instantaneous. I know - I've felt it. When Magneto kidnapped me, he almost killed me. Logan gave me his healing abilities to save me."

"But he's still unconscious after three days." Carl's voice betrayed his shudder. "What if he's lost his memory again? What if --"

Rogue reached out with a gloved hand and laid it comfortingly on Carl's arm. "He'll be fine. He should wake up any time now." She smiled hesitantly at him. "Are you going to tell him how you feel?" Carl shot her a sharp look, but she only smiled wider. "It's pretty obvious. You were a basket case when y'all got back, and Storm had to threaten you with sedatives to get you to go sleep." She cocked her head. "I didn't figure you for a switch-hitter."

Carl blushed. He paused, then said, "Over a hundred years ago, he was a different man. I loved him then. I lived for him. And I died to save him. Now.... Yes, I love him all over again. It was easy when all I had were visions of the past. It got even easier when I got to know him now. He's just as remarkable as he ever was." Carl's smile lit up his face. "If he'll have me, he'll never get rid of me."

He smiled to hear his beloved make that declaration. God or whatever had given them to each other before, and had given them back to each other now. He opened his eyes, recognizing the view of the ceiling. Ah yes, his favorite table in the clinic.

He turned his head to see Carl and Rogue perched on stools next to a table. Carl did look terrible, days of worry etched on his face. His blue shirt was rumpled and his cheeks unshaven. Still, no marks from their terrible battle were visible.

It was Rogue who happened to glance over first, and see his eyes were opened. "Logan!" She exclaimed, jumping up. Carl immediately followed suit, both of them delighted to see him awake. Rogue grabbed his arm and squeezed, relieved. Carl refrained from touching him, hanging back just a bit.

"Hey, kid," he said to Rogue hoarsely. He looked over at Carl. "Hi."

"How do you feel?" Carl asked.

"Like shit." He shifted and stretched a little, before making the effort to sit up. Rogue assisted him. He'd been stripped to his shorts, but then, his X-Suit would have been basically destroyed. He stretched and popped his spine, giving Rogue a smirk when she giggled foolishly.

Carl's eyes darted over him. "You're not even scarred."

"That's not unusual," he replied nonchalantly. "I've had three days."

Carl suddenly frowned. "You've been awake this whole time, haven't you?"

He grinned impudently at Carl, nodding. "Yep. It was pretty.... Educational."

Carl's expression turned into one of sheer exasperation. The former friar seemed prepared to launch into a tirade, a classic rundown on the darker man's shortcomings. Just as he opened his mouth, Rogue jumped in. "Well! I better go let the Professor and everyone know you're up and OK." She immediately beat a retreat.

"Hey, Kid!"

"Yeah?"

"Remember you asked me, was Logan a first name or a last name? It's a last name."

"Ok." Rogue blinked, then asked, "So what's your first name?"

He caught Carl's gaze and held it. "Gabriel."

Rogue made a squeak and exited the clinic with all speed.

Carl's rant usurped, he stared at the man still seated on the table. "Logan? What do you remember?"

"Everything. Rome, the lab, London, Transylvania." He reached out and took Carl's hand, gently pulling him close. "All the hunts, London again." He wrapped his arms around Carl and buried his face against the other man's neck, inhaling that exquisite, intoxicating scent. "Moscow."

"Gabriel!" Carl exclaimed, holding him just as tightly. The two men spared a moment to just cling to each other, finally reunited. Eventually, Carl pulled back to stare into Gabriel's eyes. He tenderly touched Gabriel's face, his eyes shining.

Logan stood, and pulled Carl close again. "So, God is still making it up to me." He smiled. "And you get to be the instrument of God's love."

Carl grinned back, remembering those words as well as Gabriel did, but any reply he might have made was prevented by a kiss.


	19. Book Two: Twelve

ALPHA/OMEGA

Book Two

TWELVE

The X-Men gathered in Professor Xavier's office. No one commented when Logan perched on the arm of an armchair occupied by Carl, though the Professor did smile knowingly at them.

"Well, then," the Professor began. "Scott, Kurt?"

"We went back to the caves. There were fifty-two bodies in the large cavern." Scott glanced at Logan and Carl. Carl's hand went around his silver crucifix and held tight. Scott continued, "We buried them all within the confines of the cavern system. None of them had any sort of identification on them."

"Ve said prayers for each," Kurt assured Carl, who nodded.

"There are probably files in the database recovered from Magneto's lab," Carl said. "We can search for more information there, see if we can figure out whom to notify. We owe them that much, to let their families know what happened to them."

"What about Magneto's experiments?" Professor Xavier asked.

"It'll take me a while to comb through the data," Carl replied, running a hand through his hair. Logan shifted, and briefly laid a hand on Carl's shoulder. Storm's eyebrows arched at this display of affection, but refrained from saying anything, due to Logan's challenging stare. "Basically," Carl went on, "he was trying to develop mutant were-creatures, operating under the flawed assumption that mutants would be more in control as weres than regular humans. On the contrary, the were-venom reacted even worse in mutants than it did normal people, creating weres utterly out of control, and with unpredictable abilities. A mutant with extra strength didn't necessarily make an extra strong werewolf. I don't know that I'll ever be able to predict results as Magneto wanted, and I can't say I'd wish to. But, there's a pretty good genetic matrix for the venom. We should be able to use that to synthesize anti-venom and get it to, er, the right people."

Xavier frowned. "You're not thinking of going back, are you, Carl?"

Carl shook his head emphatically. "No way! But, I know of some people, who would respond as we want, if we use, um, the right names." He glanced up at Logan, who frowned in turn.

"We'll discuss it." He said to Carl, who shrugged.

"So, do we consider this issue closed?" Storm asked. Kurt looked like he wanted to ask a number of questions, but the Professor shook his head.

"Until Magneto's next scheme pops up," Scott said wryly.

"One can hope that he'll take some time off," Xavier answered, with a smile of his own. "We could use some downtime. Our students are suffering from our inattention."

Carl smacked himself in the forehead. "I have essays to grade!" The others groaned as the redhead launched himself out of his armchair and headed for the door.

----------------

Snow fell steadily from the January sky as Carl fumbled with the doorknob to the apartment. He and Gabriel had gotten the Professor's permission to turn the unused rooms above the garage into a living space for themselves. Though Scott and Jean had lived in the school buildings, neither Carl nor Gabriel was comfortable living that close to everyone else. Instead, they'd built a fairly comfortable place for themselves separate from the rest of the school's living quarters.

"Gabriel? I'm back!" Carl called as he kicked the door closed behind him. Balancing the multiple grocery bags in his arms, he climbed the stairs to their apartment. "I got that beer you wanted. Took me three different stores to find it, in the snow, so you better be grateful! Gabriel? Logan?"

He suddenly realized he smelled something burning. Quickly setting the bags down, he hurried into the kitchen, only to be greeted with a site out of a comedy.

Logan stood by the sink, chewing a cigar and cursing as he ran water over a still smoking pan. Smoke also emerged from the oven, and two separate pots were boiling over on the stovetop.

"Jesus Gabriel!" Carl exclaimed. He reached over and turned off everything, shifting the pots. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm trying to cook dinner!" Gabriel snarled.

Carl blinked in confusion. "But, you can't cook. You never cook. You've never cooked in all the time I've known you. I've always done all our cooking."

Gabriel dropped the pan and chucked the gnawed stogie into the trash. "I know, I remember. I just wanted to, to do something--"

"Let me guess. Rogue put you up to this."

Gabriel shrugged.

"What did she say?"

Gabriel muttered something.

"What was that?"

Gabriel scowled. "I said it's our anniversary."

Carl's jaw dropped. "Oh dear god no, Gabriel, PLEASE tell me she didn't talk you into some sappy thing! It's only been a few months!"

"No, not now. Since then."

"Huh? You've lost me."

"Do you remember the date the day you died?"

"Yeah, so? Oh, wait." Carl mentally did some math, and then smiled at Gabriel. "THAT."

He grinned at Gabriel, who gave a lopsided smile in return. The larger man stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Carl, burying his face against his lover's neck and sniffing deeply, inhaling that scent he remembered no matter what had befallen him. Carl dug his fingers into Gabriel's back, reveling in the feel of that body against his, holding tight to the man he'd essentially come back to life to be with. He kissed Gabriel's neck and whispered, for the first time since Gabriel awoke in the clinic, "I love you."

"I love you too," Gabriel immediately replied. He kissed Carl back, working his way up the redhead's jaw line to claim his lips. After a moment, he pulled back and said, "So, now what do we do?"

Carl grinned wickedly. "Skip dinner."

They began to make their way to the bedroom.

_Logan. Carl. I need you in my office right away._

"I HATE it when he does that!"

END

_Thanks to everyone who read, everyone who reviewed, and anyone who so much as peeked before wrinking their noses and going 'This sucks!'. Big shouts out to regular reviewers Verona D (you so totally rock!), Kydasam (I still wanna grow up to be you!), blackwolfs900, and Lindiel (urk, no, must avoid LOTR crossover! grin). I have had a FEW ideas about a sequel, but nothing concrete and nothing soon, sorry. Though, anyone with a suggestion for Carl's X-Men codename is welcome to email me with it! Any interested VH fans, keep your eyes out for me over in the VH postings for ficlets coming soon, plus a VHRP with CrystalDragon79 over at LordsOfTheSlasheddotCom._


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